Marine Man

Maybe I do want love. I honestly never thought I really cared for it much.  I've always been happy on my own, I've always felt fulfilled, I've never felt lonely.  Tonight I feel truly lonely.  I don't need constant attention.  I don't need compliments.  I don't even need sex.  But for a little while there...I thought I might need you.  I thought you were different.  Mainly because of everything I felt for you.  I will admit that most of your personality traits and characteristics have been made up- since I don't know you very well at all.  From what I do know about you, I thought you were perfect.  Not perfect in a way that means you have no flaws....but perfect in the way that means I liked everything about you.  I admired you, respected you, trusted you, and wanted you.  I wanted to know your future, your past, and everything in between.  I never like boys here. Ever.  I don't care if it sounds immature but it is not fair that we can't possibly work out.  You're in the Marines.  Good for you, good for America, good for Afghanistan.  I can't help but wonder here...why did I meet you?  Why did I have to meet you two days before you were leaving this place we both callled home to disappear forever?  I wish I wouldn't have.  I know myself, I'm a very realistic person, and yet; I knew within meeting you for the first few hours that I liked you enough to have sex with you when you got back from boot camp.  I knew within those first few hours that I would have dated someone like you- you specifically- even though you were thousands of miles away.  I liked you.  That's a very rare and momentous occasion for any person that knows me.  And yet, you're leaving.  You left two days after I met you for three months, you left 2 more months after that, and now those second two months have turned to four years in Hawaii.  I'm crazy about you- but I'm not stupid.  I am commitment phobic (which is why this has been such a big deal for me to really like someone in the first place).  I vowed to never try "long distance" again.  I am doing fine on my own- there's no one here to save. 
But I still wish you would have tried.
And I resent you for making me feel so weak and vulnerable.  I can't explain to you how unlike me this is.  You will never understand.

My mother is a very independent, successful, and smart woman.  She grew up with an older sister and younger brother in an abusive home with alcoholic parents.  She met my dad when she was in fourth grade and they've been together ever since (they are now 55).  If my mom was ever going to become anything, it would be all on her shoulders.  She moved out at the age of 16 without a cent from her parents and the consequence of being financially "cut off."  When my parents were 17 they bought a trailor and took up residence in their local trailor park.  From then on, they have functioned as a unit, a team with an unbreakable bond and very high hopes and aspirations for the future.  After highschool, my dad got a full scholarship to play college football.  My mom wasn't sure what she wanted- but she made my dad accept the scholarship and attend college out of state.  My mom and her sister relied on eachother during this time.  Neither of them had any idea what they wanted to do with their lives but they knew they wanted money and they wanted out of the trailor park; they took to the phone book.  They scoured it- entertaining a new career path with every turn of the page. 
Court reporting.  Set your own pace.  Payment plans. 
It was decided.  The two women enrolled in court reporting school and began working toward their future.  They graduated early- both at the top of their class- and set out to start making some money.  Around this time my dad had decided living without my mom didn't suit him and he trurned to Florida with the intention of attending medical school.  My mom and her sister both secured jobs at the same court reporting firm shortly after graduating.  They took depositions no one wanted, put in over-over-time, and put the needs of the company before their own.  The sisters essentially became slaves to this company; and it paid off.  Before the age of thirty, the two women bought the lucrative company and embarked on a business partnership that would financially carry them for the rest of their lives.  My mom put my dad through medical school, against the advice of some other women, and single-handedly supported the both of them until my dad was making his own living. 
I can remember watching my mother get ready for work as a young girl and thinking she was the most beautiful woman in the whole entire world.  She had a closet full of gorgeous clothes, long blonde hair, blue eyes, slender build...and a corvette and cadillac.  She is motivated, hard working, and the most intelligent/wise/strategic woman I've ever known.  She's one of those women whose knowledge just seems to be innate and endless.  She is experienced and savvy in every sense of the word.  She is truly such an inspiration and I don't know how I got so lucky as to have her for a mom, but I'm sure glad I did. 

I know I'm dramatic.

I have anxiety.  I am commitment-phobic.  I also have asthma, little lumps the doctor calls "fatty cysts" in my back and arm but I KNOW are cancer, and there always seems to be something wrong with my eye lately.   My parents don't ever believe anything is wrong with me.  For the most part, they are right....LUCKILY.  They are not always right though.  I did break my hand in two places when I was fifteen and no one believed me.  I was sent to school and no one helped me open the milk because "if you can't open it yourself, you're obviously not hungry enough."  That's what you say to a kid because he won't eat his cheeseburger because he didn't want ketchup on it but won't shut up either because he's "starving."  That is NOT what you should say to your daughter when her hand is 11 times its normal size and purple and sagging in the middle.  My parents are funny people like that.  When they finally did decide my HUGE and most likely gain green headed hand deserved some medical attention, my dad took me to a pet shop for x-rays.  He's a veterinarian....which makes this completely natural TO MY PARENTS.  Low and behold, the diagnosis came back (after a ferret was treated first) BROKEN.  I finally was taken to a human docotor (I think my parents were required to by law) to receive a cast.  I used that cast as a ticket out of chores as often as possible- I deserved it! Unfortunately, I only had that lucky plaster for six weeks.  It smelled- but I hate showering anyway so I didn't care.  What did bother me was the fact my skin was so pale it made my arms look hairy.  I do not have hairy arms.  Insurance should not only cover the cost of getting a cast removed, but tanning should come standard as well.  I'll deal with them later.
Because I pride myself to be a very fair and rational young lady (in most aspects), I will say my parents are not abusive nor negligent.  They are good parents who ignore any ailments I claim to have because (this pains me to say) I am a drama queen.  I yell in pain before I feel it (sometimes it never comes or is just a loud noise), a headache is a tumor, pink eye is my eye deflating, exploding, or closing up (all resulting in permanent blindness), anything infected is rotting off, etc.  Although I can admit my paranoia, I truly do believe I have asthma (my dad has it afterall) and those lumps really freak me out- I won't touch them or my belly button. I won't let anyone touch my belly button because I have an innie-outie and it feels weird and I think it's disgusting.  I blame my tendency to be dramatic (mostly with health issues) on my parents.  They never think anything is seriously wrong and refuse to ever let me go to a human doctor- they downplay everything!  One of these days I'm afraid they're going to ignore something that needs attention and it will lead to death, amputation, blindness or any other permanent handicap.  I am aware these fears are irrational and dramatic...