Only-Child Syndrome

The Greatness that is BMOC …

Anyone who may recall what I was like when the then 10 yr old sniveling brat entered my life will tell you I WAS NOT HAPPY!  Now, from a rational point of view what the hell at 23 did it really matter that I was gaining a step sibling? Honestly, not a damn thing. That didn’t stop me at times letting my mother know that I was on to her. I just KNEW she loved him more than me. What is worse is that I actually felt at times that she loved him more than me; her OWN daughter. *shudder* I have a flair for the dramatics there is no doubt about it.

Looking back it is easy to see what a fucking nightmare I must have been to deal with. Of course he knows none of this, and instead only knows the good that came from him coming into my life.  Not even today does he know what he did for me at that point in my life, how in some ways he saved me from myself. My family knows, his family knows, and I hope there never comes a point where he will need to know, but writing about it might put into perspective exactly how important that he is to me and my sanity.

When BMOC and I started building a relationship I never expected him to be as cool as he was. He was so much like me, except a boy of course. He played sports, watched sports, loved to get dirty. Everything I was at his age, and on a 10 year old level we had a connection. The thing that I got to bring to the table was support. I was at every game I could be, and made time in the middle of the week, or weekends to pick him up and go do silly things. Movies, lunch, anything that got him out of the house and got us alone with one another. At times he had to be reminded that at the end of the day I was not his friend so to speak, and yes I was a grown up no matter how often I didn’t show it. There were times when that lesson was harder to teach, but there was no denying that I lived for being a part of his life. Literally.

To say that BMOC saved me is an understatement. At the time we were building our relationship, my own personal relationship was going to hell. My ex who would be my ex more than once in my life had already began his long battle of beating me down to the point that I beat myself down without prompting. When I was at home I was only a shell of myself, and very rarely had a positive spin on life as a whole. I was doing nothing more than walking through the motions. It was at this time I very seriously thought about walking away from it all if you will. I’ll never forget making the call to my mother and laying it out and how fast her and my step father came running. The packed me up, what few belongings I had and took me home. I was back in counseling the next day, and every night my step father would come and check on me. Something I did not know until over a year later, how he looked over me to make sure that I was ok. In the end however it wasn’t being brought home that made the thoughts stop, it wasn’t the love of my mother or my step father that made me feel better about my life. At the end of the day it was something that BMOC’s uncle said to me that put things into perspective.

“I don’t know what we would have told BMOC about you, had you done something to truly hurt yourself.” “He loves you, and talks about you non-stop and all the time that you guys spend together.” “There is no way at 10 he would be able to process what you would have decided to do, and instead we would have lied to him about your whereabouts.” “Next time you feel that low, if it’s not your mother or father or even you step-father that makes you stop to think; think about him.”

Those words are exactly what I needed to hear, at exactly the time I needed to hear them. No matter how selfish I could be, and with what little regard to my family. When it came to BMOC I couldn’t hurt him in that way. Probably because no matter if he understood it yet, or if he will ever understand it I knew where he was in his life, and I was living proof of where he could end up without the support of loved ones. I had to make sure that I remained part of that support.

All of that is what drives me to our relationship as it is today. I can’t even begin to describe how proud I am of him. Last year he was successful as a freshman with sports, girls, etc but this year as he starts his sophomore year he is leaps and bounds ahead. Not only will he be playing Varsity Football, which come on FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS people! He is also holding down a 3.6 GPA, has remained grounded as much as I would expect anyone at his age to be, and at his level of accomplishment, but he has also become grateful for what he has, and what he is given.

This weekend as I took part of my Sunday to run him to the mall for school clothes shopping he wasn’t the whiney I want kid that I had dealt with before. Instead he was the grown up, this is what I need, how much I have to spend, and thank you kid that he’s grown into. He was grateful for the stuff that I personally bought him, something I would not have done had he thrown a fit over some label this or that, but he was also reasonable in his requests. He is becoming a man, and it’s easy to see that but at the same time it’s funny to still see the little boy in him.

The other thing that amazes me is how much our personal relationship has grown. He tells me things; things I know he would never tell someone he didn’t trust. It feels like an “us” against them kind of thing. The them being our parents of course, and I have held that confidence on more than one occasion. My theory is, if he’s not hurting someone, or himself then I am not going to pull the grown up judgmental card, and instead trust he’s smart enough to make the right choices.  The choices that I know he is capable of making because regardless if he’s on varsity this or that, or girl a or b likes him; he is a kind, smart, funny, and lovable person. He is a leader, and therefore someone others look up to, someone that at times even I look up to.

 

Who needs rules?

Rule:

1. To be in total control or command; exercise supreme authority.

2. To prevail at a particular level or rate: Prices ruled low.

3. To formulate and issue a decree or decision.

4. Slang. To be excellent or superior: That new video game rules!

When I was younger I always had a tough time following the rules. I think it probably had to do a lot with being raised by my grandmother until I was almost 12. I lived with my grandparents from first grade through sixth and only ever really remember being in trouble one time. That isn’t to say that I got away with murder, but there was little discipline. I wasn’t a bad kid, and apparently things my grandmother would have killed my mother for just were not issues to her as she grew older. I have heard even my mother use that logic today when speaking about Big Man on Campus IE: my step-brother.       

Apparently, once you’ve grown older as a parent you become more tolerant with things. Things that once would have driven my grandmother up the wall about my mom had very little bearing on how she felt when I did them. I can remember arguments when my mother would visit because I’d do something she didn’t approve of. My grandmother would have my back telling my mother to quit being so in an uproar, it was only “this or that”. I can only imagine that drove my mother nutz, and so when I did come to live with her those years later there were  times she could be quite the Nazi. From the age of 13 until 16 I pretty much stayed grounded. I don’t think I was really a bad kid, at least not yet. I just feel my mother was trying to over compensate and therefore I spent a lot of time in my room with no TV, or radio. This of course drives me insane now! Mostly because as I type this BMOC is grounded as well. He however has not lost his cell phone, or myspace privileges. (yes at 29 I am jealous of his little ass, I said it)               

All of that brings me to me now as a grown up. I need rules, and actually thrive when they are in place. It is not that I have a lack of self control; it’s honestly that for so many years of my life I was tired and fed up, so I lived in the gray. My cousin would cover for me when we were younger and wanted to stay out past curfew. When we would finally get home, or her mom showed up to drag us home she would very simply say she lied to me about us having permission to stay out. This little rouse worked its fair share of times even. The logic was simple: If I didn’t know that I was breaking the rules, how could I be in trouble for them? It was this kind of thinking that I have had ever since. Again, it’s not about knowing right from wrong, it’s about being able to justify the circumstances; something I’ve become a pro at. It’s this kind of thinking, the living in the gray if you will that has played a huge role in any relationships I’ve had in the past. I am an act now, pay later kind of girl. It’s not easy for me to ask before acting. I would much rather do as I please and pay the piper in the end. There is a good chance with just the right fact, I might not really have to pay to much at all, making it all so much more appealing.       

Yesterday while sitting patio side with WanderLust we talked about rules, and how I even more so needed them in my own eyes. How black and white suit me, and gray only confuses or complicates thing. I need rules even more so in a relationship, and need someone strong enough to stand behind any idle threats they may make when the rules are called into question. At the same time I need someone, everyone to understand that my rule breaking is not always about being insensitive, or selfish. Sometimes, it is very simply that I forget to stop and ask myself how it would make me feel if someone did the same thing to me. Or even worse, sometimes I forget to stop and ask myself who my actions might offend or hurt. It’s not that I mean to be insensitive, or run over anyone; only child or not. Sometimes my actions are very black and white, and other times my whole demeanor is gray.     

Growing up an only child doesn’t make these things ok, nor does it justify my lack of concern for others. It is only just another piece of the puzzle to recovery, and to being as “normal” as anyone else.

Share is a five letter word ...

Some of my earliest memories of childhood involve hiding all my “good” toys before my cousins would come to visit. I can’t recall now what one of those prized possessions might have been, but whatever they were at the time they were the most important things in the world. I would have died if something were to happen to them. To be fair I did have one little monster of a cousin, and if I was looking for some justification she would be the easy target, but the fact is I just didn’t want anyone’s grubby hands on my stuff.

Now almost thirty years later and I still have a love/hate relationship with sharing. Some of it is down right comical like sharing a bottle of water and how at one point that would make me scream on the inside. Not because of the fact I was afraid of the germs I might catch, but more because damn it was my bottle of water, and not only did this person not ask; he took the first drink.

Some of it is not so comical, and down right selfish of me. One prime example is how long it took me to adjust to having a step-brother come into my life about 5 years ago. I remember being so upset watching my mother specifically share her time with him, and trying to explain to her how it made me feel. Some of my being upset had to do a lot with my childhood and the fact she wasn’t a huge part of it, but if I’m honest with myself some of it was just because he was getting time and attention I wasn’t. Looking back now it’s amazing how far we’ve come, because even though I’d never admit it; he has become my favorite person in the world. The things that him and are able to share is amazing, but it’s not like growing up with a sibling and there are very few times that I have to share with him. You add in the age difference and most of the time I just get to be the cool sister and what not.

Most recently I am learning to share on a much grander scale, and in ways I never thought about 10 years ago. As I’ve gotten older so has my taste in men. This of course brings along its own set of issues to tackle. Very rarely do you run across a man in his mid to late thirties who hasn’t been married, and or have any children. The baggage is just there, and if you plan on making a go of any kind it is something that you have to meet head on, and prepare to share much more than you would think. Of course I always have known this, and most of the times do a good job of accepting it, but there are times or occasions when it eats at me that nothing will ever be new or fresh, and just mine. This is just part of the package. Sometimes the feelings are maddening, and in my head all kinds of things run rampant. The fact however that it is MY issue, and I am the one who holds the power to accept it, or move on.

The sharing has changed a lot since the days of hiding toys, and I have grown since having such angst for a ten year old. In all that growing and changing some sharing comes quite easily, but there are days that no matter how stubborn or selfish the thoughts I am having are they are there. That is just how I am wired; wrong or right.