Do Over

Failure.  Utter.  Me. 
Sometimes I just wish that I could start over somewhere.  Try it all again.  I feel like a lousy everything.  Missed it on every front.  Ok, not in the mom thing...though there are certainly things I wish I could do over there too.
But, unlike childhood, there are no do overs. 
But what about start agains?  I want to go somewhere and just try to be who I'm supposed to be.  I want  to quit hurting people that I've tried to love.  I think that I'm not so good at it.  I know I'm not.  All evidence points to the fact that I'm just not as easy to love as others.  Obnoxious.  Stubborn.  I seem to never end up good enough or the right kind of person.  And frankly, I'm just worn out from it.  It's all just too hard.  Every time I think that there's a safe place, a place where I am allowed to breathe and just be, I realize that it's nice the right thing either.
I think that I just totally don't get the rules.  Some people have it.  The are acceptable.  Some never will be.  I thought that I was.  But, turns out, not.
No wonder my husband treats me as he does.  I AM supposed to just be grateful that someone like him would be with someone like me.
BLECH.  Sick of it.  Need tlc.  None to be found.
So I'll cook and have fun and do my very best to make life good for all.  But, while I can do it.  And can do it well.  I just wish that I could make life good for me too.  If I were 8 I'd run away.  But I'm not.  So, I'll be responsible.  I'll stick it out.  I'll smile.  I'll be mature.  I won't stamp my feet and yell curse words.  I won't yell that I need things too.  I know that God is supposed to be all we need...but why do some people get both? 
Because I'm not one of them.  And being with the thems makes it way more obvious.  Alone.  In my thoughts.  In my needs.  wanted for what I can do.  Not for who I am.
You'd think I'd grow used to it.  I have grown accustomed.  I am used to being looked to for the food at home.  For the plan.  Used to being rang up when there's a reason.  Not to encourage me.  Nobody gets where I am.  Not suicidal.  Not those feelings.  Just hurting.  My body hurts, but I work hard.  My heart hurts, but I keep giving.  But it's like it is never ever enough.  And it's never the right thing.  And frankly, I just am glad that I sleep in the living room.  Well, not really sleep...sometimes moreso.  Not so much this last week. 
Ok. That was my rant.  Now on to my day.  As my son asks, "mom, do you hide your sadness from us."  And I'm thinking that that is a big resounding YES.  But, I am working on having less sadness.  Not quite sure how, but it will come.