So, since when does responsibility equal screw up?

Okay, I feel selfish, but this is my place for total honesty and nothing but, so here goes:

Yesterday, I had two phone calls. My mom and grandfather called. I hadn't talked to Momma since last Thursday and hadn't talked to Grandaddy in two weeks.

First came Momma's call. She had a very bad day Sunday. By 3:00 PM, she had taken to her bed and didn't get back up. She said she was having panic attacks so bad she could barely breathe. She calmed down a bit after taking a Valium at 6 (the only one that day). Um, my mom has never been prescribed Valium. She's on anti-depressants though. Then she told me Grandaddy had a bad day on Sunday too. If I had a phone call, I should call him, but not bring anything up unless he brought it up first. Then she asked me how I was doing. Before I could answer, she went on to tell me in great detail how she's doing. Um, if she didn't want to know, then why did she ask?

Next call was Grandaddy's. He told me about his bad day. He asked how I was doing. Before I could answer, he asked if I had talked to my mom. I said she called earlier. And started to answer the previous question. I think I may have said "I'm" before I was cut off. He asked how I thought she was doing. I truthfully answered that she sounded better than she told me she was on Sunday. He agreed with that part. Then he launched into a spiel about how she's on ILLEGAL Valium two or three times a day. I started thinking that if the one she had taken at 6 was her first for the day, maybe it wasn't just grief causing her panic attacks. Maybe it was Valium withdrawal. Anyway, Grandaddy went on to say that as he saw it, there were two choices. He could either accept and learn to live with the grief and the hole in his life, or he could give up, quit fighting, and let it consume him until he died with it. (Death by broken heart is real, and that's what he was referring to, not suicide.) He said that sometimes the latter seemed easier, but he couldn't do that. Why couldn't he? Amazingly, religion didn't come into it. He couldn't do that to MOMMA and leave her to deal with that too.

Here is where the selfishness comes in. What about me? Where do I fit into that scenario?

As a child (until 9 and then 14-16 and then again at 17), I lived with Mema and Grandaddy. Grandaddy would often argue with Mema (after I was supposed to be asleep) about how much money she spent on me. Yes, I was spoiled, but most of what she spent was clothes, food, dance and tumbling classes, and whatever I needed for school. 10-12 grades, she paid for private school. During on particularly bad argument with Grandaddy when I was eleven or twelve, he told me that I was a financial burden on them, and these were the years they were supposed to be relaxing since they were done raising their own kids. It had been said in anger, but I've never forgotten it. The way I see it, anger, just like drunkenness, results in truth. It lowers inhibitions to where a person goes with their deepest wants and feelings. Ever since that time, I've strived to not cause any type of trouble or worry for him. Don't get me wrong, I love my grandaddy and we're closer now than then, but I still strive for his approval. Since he spoke that angry sentence at me, I've felt like I had to please him to receive his love. Logically, I know he loves me anyway, but when have feelings ever been logical? I guess what I'm saying is that his love doesn't FEEL unconditional. (Especially since the 'live with my mom thing between 16 and 17 was his idea.) Again, it's illogical. Basically, what it boils down to is that I've tried never to have him disappointed in me. I've never let him know when I couldn't handle something. In short, I've never let him know how much I need him, mainly because he ADMIRES me for how together I am. How I can APPEAR to deal with whatever life throws at me. Bottom line, I can't go to him about how I feel when he's so worried about Momma and trying to deal with things for himself too.

Now, Momma's love has never felt unconditional to me either. When I was little, it seemed that she only wanted me around when SHE wanted me around. There were times I asked if I could stay with her for a night and heard "No, I'm going out tonight. I have a date." Then I'd go crying into Mema's lap. My own mother barely wanted me. Her excuse is that she was working so much that she needed to unwind and have fun. Hmm, working so much...at one time she did have three jobs. But she wasn't working for me, as she liked to say. If I was lucky, I could expect a dollar store gift for Christmas or birthday. That never bothered me. And I'm not saying that we NEVER spent time together. We did. It just wasn't enough to satisfy me. Whole weeks would go by that I wouldn't even see her. By her choice. And because of that, whenever she did find time for me, I always tried never to make her mad or get in trouble or anything like that. The few times I did make her mad, she either threatened that I was going back to Mema's or she actually took me back, dropped me off, and left without a backwards glance. I love my mom, I really do. But sometimes, I don't like her. She's one of those people who never seemed to learn to put anyone else first. Her wants, her needs, all of that came before me. At one point, I had two stepsisters. They were younger, so it was understandable if they sometimes needed her more than I did. Unfortunately, I was so responsible that I never needed her more. The year I was in seventh grade, my stepsisters and I all made the honor roll for the whole year. I don't know if they still do it, but then, we all had an Honor Day. We would receive a certificate and recognition. Mine was on a Thursday, and my stepsisters' was the next Tuesday. Mema had to work during mine, but was going to try to get off work so she could come. I told her she didn't have to, that there would be next year, and besides, Momma promised she'd come since it was her normal day off. She'd only get two hours for my stepsisters' ceremony, but she wouldn't have to rush for mine. I was ecstatic. Honor Day came. I got my certificate, but no recognition from anybody in my family. I got home, worried that something had happened to Momma because she had promised. Well, she just plainly forgot. But she did remember to go to my stepsisters'. They had practically their whole family there. Even their mom had come from Atlanta. (Their mom told me afterwards that if she had known about mine, she would have come. I may not have been her daughter, but I was her daughters' sister.) Is it any wonder that was the last year I cared enough to make honor roll? And all of that is why I can't talk to Momma. She just doesn't seem to care enough and wishes she was a together as I am. She's actually told me that she's thankful I don't need her very much.

So, what it all boils down to is that I'm totally lost. The one person I could count on to listen and try to help is gone. The one person I felt loved me unconditionally is gone. I don't tell Alan how I feel lately. He says I should talk to my family. He just doesn't understand why I don't feel that I'm able to. Alan's either going to get mad at me for not saying anything, or he's going to get mad at Momma or Grandaddy for 'grieving at' me while at the same time not listening to me and telling me not to talk to the other person.

Honestly, I think they're lucky. They CAN take the time to cry, reflect, or whatever. I'm usually too busy during the day and at night after the kids are in bed, I'm barely awake enough to stand under a shower for five minutes. I HAVE to keep pushing it back or I won't be able to get anything done during the day. And my kids are wild enough without their mother periodically checking out, and I REALLY don't want to upset them. A.J. has figured things out though. When I'm having a bad moment, he gives me a hug and rubs my stomach. He knows that when I get too upset I feel sick.

So selfishly I have to ask. Just who is it I'm supposed to talk to? I guess I screwed up by ACTING so together, responsible, and like I could deal with everything. After all, who wants to be a burden?