Neglect
Being
unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is
a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has
nothing to eat. -Mother Teresa
I can feel and take in love, I can see myself
I
felt forgotten about in my alcoholic home. There just wasn't enough
cohesion to hold my place intact. Everything was always fraying at the
edges and I even wondered if I was loved. I personalized the lack of
attention, imagining that something I had done or was doing was driving
people and the attention I longed for away from me. I tried to correct
myself, give more, work harder, be nicer but nothing worked. In fact,
the squeaky wheels seemed to get more attention than I did. Being
neglected was a powerful form of abuse. It left no obvious marks, but I
bled on the inside. At least other forms of abuse are obvious, something
to point to, something to feel like an actual victim over. At least I
would have known I was there. But withheld love is a worse pain. It left
me floating in space, wondering if I was there, shouting out into thin
air but making no sound. Today I know that the love that was withheld
from me was not personal. It was nothing I did or could have undone. It
was part of a family that was dying on the inside.
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