A Tribute to the Only Children

He has a brother and sister. She has a sister and brother.

How does it feel to have people that look like you, who grew up with you?

I always felt lucky to be an only child. I wouldn’t have wanted to have to try to take care of a kid when I could barely take care of myself. I worried about when my parents were in drunken fights full of rage how I would escape and how I would take another kid with me. I wondered how we would afford another kid when we could barely afford me. So I was glad. A sibling seemed like too much trouble.

Was I lonely? Yes, so lonely. I still feel that lonely actually.

I feel like there is a deep hole of aloneness permanently tattooed to my chest. It says I will always be alone and the deep gut-wrenching hole gets deeper and deeper every day.

Do I want something salty or sweet? What will dull this ache I feel inside? This discomfort without a brother or sister to call, without someone who knows me from the inside out?

A mother or a father, I don’t have those either. I am an adult orphan and it hurts like hell.

A family is something I don’t have, extended anyway. I have a husband and two fine kids that give me comfort and space when I need it. They know me, but they don’t really know me.

They know the stories I tell and they get me, but I want someone whos been there from day one. I want someone who shares my cells and blood. I want a relative. I want a family of my own.

Everyone else seems to have this.

I lost my parents in my 30’s. We weren’t super close. So maybe I am missing what I didn’t have in the first place, but as I get older I see how important siblings can be.

To be honest I get jealous of seeing others with their parents and siblings. I get jealous when my husband is talking to his family. I feel more alone and I crawl into my hole.

Now here’s the quote I hate: “Friends that are like family,” Yes, I get that some people have friends that feel like family, but most have families as well. I don’t have either and it drills into my heart and mind that I am missing out.

I am on the hunt for these friends that are like family, but the problem is when you are from a displaced family it can be hard to trust, hard to let people in, and hard to still not grieve.

I hear myself and I see myself in my self-pity. I feel like it’s time to embrace what I have and live in gratitude, blaa, blaa, blaa.

I have good days and bad, like all of us, but sometimes it is hard to overlook my glaring loneliness. I was busy raising kids, but now they are older and I have more time in my head to squander on about how I wish it were.

I want someone who is glad to see me, a mother to shop with and to call. A father who cares about his darling girl.

I see so many having fun. I see so many smiling and laughing and more and more I think what is wrong with me?

Why am I so unhappy?

Will I ever even let myself be happy and not be on guard?

Will I ever be able to not reenact in my brain the tragic things that have taken place?

Will I ever run out of grief to feel? Eventually, will I use it all up and move on?

Maybe I am the tortured artist of sorts. I need to have dark days so I have writing material. So others can feel less alone. So I can bring someone hope on my good days when I show how I have overcome and persevere.

I don’t know the answer. I don’t have any solutions today.

This is not a self-help piece, not today.

Maybe tomorrow.

Originally published on Medium