So I'm not an orphan. But I know loss.

It hurts because what every woman wants is to be cared for, but an orphan wants to be cared for in a way that can never, ever be found.

This is the problem. LW needs to take care of herself, and not look to other people to do it. Until she can care for herself, she won't find someone who cares. She needs to love herself first.

Cary's answer was beautiful. The LW needs serious, serious therapy. She's depressed, ruminating, and she may need meds to break out of it. I hope she gets the therapy and takes care of herself.

I will print and keep it. Until I buy your next book, which I hope this will be in.

Bearded lady. Brilliant!

These guys you're dating: maybe their arms finally get tired, huh? I believe you are right when you say that no one else can understand your history, your sense of abandonment, that first terrifying time when you went splat and realized we humans are often achingly alone and navigating a world that is neither safe nor particularly interested in our pain. Even other orphans might not totally understand, because they weren't orphaned in the same way at the same time.

That's the brutal truth, and also the beauty. Whatever happened in our childhoods, we all arrive at some point in adulthood, and we show up dragging a steamy, stinking cart of shit. Some carts are bigger than others. Some are undoubtedly harder to drag. So, that cute guy you meet on the trapeze - the one hanging upside down and offering to swing with you - he's lugging his cart, too. It isn't your cart; it's probably something barely resembling the one you're dragging. But it's there; be sure of that. So, he's managing his shit, hoping you're managing yours, and you start your trapeze act. And then he hears something like this from you: "Hold me up! Don't drop me, please, please. Everyone else has dropped me. I know you're thinking about it, because everybody else has done it." And eventually his arms get tired. And there you are again, crawling away from the lion.

Could you hold him up? Could you be the magical, all-knowing, unfailingly compassionate and wise partner who obliterates his insecurities and erases the consequences of his history? It's exhausting to even think of it.

Here's what you need to do, I think - aside from heeding Cary's advice and taking a break from dating while you work on rewriting your script. You re-parent yourself. Get a skilled counselor or hypnotherapist if you must. That's what worked for me. You need to bring yourself back, mentally, in a way that feels very real and now, to that child you were when you got dropped. And you arrive on the scene as you are now. You - a capable, world-weary, nurturing adult - will pick up that child, and you will apply salve to her wounds, and you will promise to raise her and mother her as you are capable of doing now. And soon it will be clear that you are carrying her. You won't need to ask anyone else to carry her for you.

There is a difference between what happens to us and who we are because of what happened. It's an important distinction, because we cannot change an event after it has happened, but we do have input into how that event shapes our identity.

Regardless of the amount of hurt, we all have the responsibility to react to an event with as much intellect and creativity and soul as we can muster. Sometimes it takes years or even decades to make sense of something or to heal, but coming to terms with things that have happened to us, it seems to me, is just a very basic requirement of life. There is a choice, of course. But to choose not to heal is a dead end.

Reacting emotionally is so easy for women. I propose that your story is much more interesting and promising if you focus on it from more of an intellectual standpoint. Instead of focusing on your own emotional reaction, focus on the facts of who your parents were and what they tried to leave behind. Focus on the strength you summoned to survive their death and the good deeds of others, if they existed. The story is the story -- your parents died and left you -- but take control of how the story is told and where it takes you.

I was orphaned by 15. The letter writer does have a point...no one really gets it. Even in my 50's, people don't really want to know. I learned pretty early to keep that fact to myself.

The status doesn't prevent bonding relationships, though. Don't let your parents' deaths get in your way. You are a stronger person for having forged through what you did.

Get into a grief group if you are not over it. Good luck....there are more of us than you think!

I think there's a lot of great advice here, both from Cary and some of the other commenters. LW, you're right. I can't imagine your loss. I'm sure I don't understand. I know it's not the same thing, but I lived in NY on Sept 11, and I don't think anyone really understands how that's impacted me unless they lived there too. So I get the idea of feeling like people don't understand a traumatic event.

I have two people in my life who have had terrible tragedies in their lives. One is a friend whose father killed his mother when he was a child. I don't really understand his pain. I can't imagine how anyone else could. And my aunt's only son (my cousin) committed suicide when he was 18 years old. Yes, there are support groups for parents who lose children, and for suicide survivors, but it's still tough to find someone who lost a child at 18 when you didn't have primary custody of the child, and had been estranged from him for half his life, but had recently reconciled and thought things were going to be okay. I know my aunt feels no one understands her pain and I'm sure she's right. We try, we really do, but how can we ever know?

My point is, our pain and our tragedies are unique. (I know others have pointed it out, but I think it bears repeating.) We will never know another's pain. And there will always be someone in a more tragic situation, who has perhaps handled it with so much grace and strength we underestimate their pain; and others who have dealt with far, far lesser tragedies, who carry on as if they've been dealt the greatest tragedies known to humankind. We all have unique tragedies, and we all manage them differently.

That said, it seems that how you're managing yours is causing you more pain. It seems that, as Cary says, you need to re-write your story. Maybe you can do it on your own, but I think it would be so much easier with the aid of a therapist and a support group. A therapist may not truly understand your unique set of circumstances, but a good one will empathize and will help you move on, as I'm sure your parents would have hoped for. It's not a betrayal to move on from your grief. You never really will anyway...I'm sure you'll always miss them. But it's okay to miss them a little less, and to learn to do without what you needed from them. It's okay to move on as best you can.

Best of luck to you.