Ugh, god, I feel like garbage

Man.
I hate children.
And old people.
Damn carriers of disease.
Trins been sick since wednesday. Nina came over here on Friday sick.
And now. Here I am. Sick as a dog. The only thing I that'll relieve what ails me most is pregnancy class C and I hate to gamble. Especially with the well being of my firstborn son.........we'll see how long I can hold off on that one.
I was up from like 4 till 5:30 just cuz I felt so icky I couldn't sleep. My misery woke V up and he laid and watched Fun with Dick and Jane with me till I fell asleep.
I had a horrible dream. I'll spare ya'll the details....but essentially I was leaving V-and he didn't care.
Let me explain why this is so horrible to me. More horrible than monsters and demons out for my blood.
Both my parents are alcoholics. My mom claims she's a "recovering alcoholic"-but you can't be "recovering" if you're still totally in the grip of your disease. Am I right?
Anyway, when my mom was sober-she was supermom. She did everything. Took us to museums and parks and the zoo, made delicious and filling meals, and worked six days a week. She cared when I was sad, hugged and comforted me when I hurt, took care of me when I was sick, she made sure she knew what my favorite colors were and what books I hadn't read yet-what TV shows I never wanted to miss.....and when she drank.....none of that mattered to her anymore. When she was sober-she promised me-countless times that she would never drink again. Because she loved me so much and I was so much more important to her that any liquor. And then she'd drink again. And I'd hide my sister and brothers upstairs or in the basement away from it all and she'd focus all her dunken rage on me. She's a little woman. By the time I was ten I was already bigger than she was-so her blows never hurt. But she'd curse me. Call me a stupid fat bitch and a whore and everything else she could think of. When I got older-she'd throw herself at my boyfriends and tell them horrible untrue things about me to scare them away. That......um.....that hurts alot you know? She'd took such good care of me and told me she loved me. She was supposed to give me that UNCONDITIONAL love that only parents can give-and she didn't. One moment I was her special "apple-tree" and the next I meant nothing to her. I was the first person to turn my back on my mother. My brother and sister have just recently given up on her. I don't think my father ever will. But around the fifth or sixth time she came back from rehab and broke all her promises-I stopped accepting her apologies. I stopped being nice. I stopped taking care of her when she fell down and cut herself. I stopped covering her when she'd fall alseep outside with dresses on. I didn't want to talk to her or hug her or kiss her-whether she was sober or not. She was never quite the same as she had been-because of the tumor and the bi-polar disorder. SO I just STOPPED. I didn't want to be hurt anymore. But. When she ran off with that guy from burger king, and me and my father found her in some rathole on the southside, sick, and wheezing, and pale on thanksgiving day......I knew, I KNEW that she had done this to herself. She should suffer. She should have to clean up her own mess. And I let my father get us back in to the car and drive all the way back to the dan ryan before I told him to stop. I told him that we could'nt leave her there. And he hesitated only briefly before pulling a u-turn and going back. He carried her out. Ad she laid in the back seat in my arms. But I would not let myself cry or care. It would only open myself up to more hurt.
My dad was the opposite. When he drank he would be so nice to me. We would TALK and have CONVERSATIONS and he would listen to me-and tell me things. He would make promises that he would forget when he sobered up again. My father did not believe in having "conversations" with his children when he was sober. Very few things that left his mouth were anything other than orders or threats.
So you see? The horror there? The two people that were supposed to care about me most in life, would, and could, it seemed, at any given moment-stop caring about me. I developed this thing. I believe that if they could do it-anyone could-so I'd just better be prepared to stop caring about anyone at any given moment-cuz they might do it to me-and if I can just let go-it won't hurt. I even have this limitation with my best friend of six years. Jennifer has stuck around all this time and I still feel like at any moment I will lose priority and become nothing to her. I try keep this wall up-even with my children. Yes, all of them. I love them all SO MUCH. The devastation it would cause me to have one of them turn their back on me.......it's unimaginable. But children are wild animals-and apt to do strange things-so I try and prepare myself-tho I know I will never truly be ready.
Everybody thinks I'm just a cold ass bitch. That it's just my nature. I don't really care about anybody-so don't expect me to be nice. And while that is who I am now-It has a background. There is a reason those barriers are in place.
One person has made it past. ONE person is inside-one person I allow myself to care about without limits-and it took me a very long time to get here. Van. And if he were to ever turn on me, and not care about me anymore-forget being mad or upset with me-just totally NOT care-I don't know what I'd do. He has given me the unconditional love that I lost as a child. And I had to let him in-to give him the same-because he deserves it.
That is why my dream was so bad. And I woke up. And I rolled over. And he wasn't there. So I grabbed my phone and sent a text:
"I had a bad dream. I need you."
And before I could flip the phone shut it vibrated:
"k"
and the he was there. And he came in. and he held me. And i shared with him the dream-and when I got to the part about him not caring if I left or not he said-"Well, now you KNOW that was just a dream." And I shared with him everything I have shared with you now. And he stroked me and held me and kissed my and we both drifted off again for a bit. And then I pooteed on his leg. And he still didn't leave. LOL. I'm lucky aren't I? I am. I know.

And, I feel better now. I feel better having gotten that out-off my soul and into the world. Sometimes-I blog for spite, it's true, but mostly I blog because-it actually makes me feel better. Maybe one day-I won't even feel like this anymore. But for now I've got big, broad shoulders to lean on, and a gorgeous, caring smile to get me thru, and an audience of millions-whether they know it or not.