I is for Important

Things that trumped me on the list of things important to Ex:

1. His computer
2. His motorcycle
3. His truck
4. His house
5. His cat
6. His motorcycle tools
7. His mom (who, even though he hated her, was still more important)
8. Movies
9. Watching motorcycle races online
10. His mountain bike

I could go on. The point is, I wasn't in his Top Ten. I wasn't on his list, period. There were nights when he would throw a tantrum and I would get so scared that I would spend the night in my car in some random parking lot, because I was more scared of Ex than of, well, spending the night in my car in some random parking lot. In the morning, I would sneak home when I knew he had gone to work (but still double-checked before turning onto our street to make sure his truck was gone), and find an empty pizza box in the trash can.
                                   
That is how important I was to Ex. I was too scared to come home, he ate pizza. Incredible.

My mom told me about a month ago that she was going to come visit me. I don't remember the last time I saw her. I tried to go visit over spring break, but, two days before leaving, I totaled my face and my car, so I couldn't make it. How important am I to my mom? Her first words:

"Is your car okay?"
                                     
Not important. Anyway, so she told me she was coming to visit. I called her last night to see when she would be arriving on Friday, and she told me she isn't coming. She's moving an hour farther than where she currently lives. She moved away to live near my little sister and my sister's family, and now they are all packing up and moving farther away. It's not a new plan. She's known for months that she was moving, and for weeks that she wasn't coming to visit me. I am not important enough to be informed that she isn't coming. I had to call her. Hell, I talked to her about a week ago and she still said she was coming, but last night, she told me she has known for weeks that she's not.
                     
It makes me think. The childish part of me thinks: well, since nobody loves me and I never see my family, I might as well die. The adult part of me thinks: well, since the reason for not committing suicide is to avoid hurting family, and I am not important to my family...