So here I am, approaching a new year chowing down cough drops and reading a book. Not that I have any complaints, I outgrew the “let’s begin the new year shitfaced” a few years ago, but it’s low-brow enough to be a high-brow thing going on here.
I spent the last two days of my Christmas vacation sick at my mother’s and the first hour of my return home silently crying in the backseat of a car, wishing I could be sick at mama’s house again.
Not often do we get to have our mother’s take care of us and pity us when we’re sick once we’re grown and moved out, so I sort of basked in it… I have to admit.
I bought a new journal during my trip home which is always exciting for me. It’s like a fresh start, however, it always ends up filled with the same crap at the end of it’s lifespan.
At some point, even our pleasures become cycles – dull patterns of our life that we get stuck turning in. Not to sound pessimistic, I’m certainly not viewing it all that way, but there is a sad truth to it that can’t be ignored. I’m not really the free-spirit type, more of a silent, creative-type that moves along in the background and freezes up when any of the last shines close. I shy away from any recognizable credit but still beg for it. I’m still not entirely sure if that’s an insecurity or just a personality trait.
I don’t even really know what I’m talking about, I picked up a computer to write and crap came out. It happens. I just figure writing is the important part.
I am filled with fiery emotions, all spilling over the cusp of my sanity and driving my heart in to the ground. I feel broken among every jagged piece of my heart that fell to the ground and “cushioned” my fall from the great heights I once occupied.
I am nothing more than another statistic, another failed relationship swept under a rug of bitter, lonely, angry women. The only ones that understand my frustration and my continued efforts in the face of defeat. I left a warm world of comfort and love and assurance that I would always have support. I left it all for an unknown world that gave me nothing but discomfort, insecurity and the complete absence of support. I have dragged myself across the coals of every decision I’ve made the past two years and let them burn the flesh of hope right from my bones. I have cried on the bathroom floor countless times, prayed to any god willing to take pity on me and created a fantasy world to lay my head in before I sleep. But my bad decisions and misery callously invade my dreams and paint bold letters before me “MISTAKE, MISTAKE, MISTAKE!!!” and I find myself waking up to the fear of living a lonely, loveless, miserable life with the same words flashing across my waking eyes.
I used to be filled with optimism and hope and wonderful things but a bad relationship can turn any woman in to the very thing she’s always despised. I still manage to pull myself up and remind myself that yes, it’s all temporary and yes, I will find the warm place I so desperately covet. I pinch myself and tell the inner-cynicism of lost battle that I’m still young and my future is still attainable and bright and that I’m nothing like those who ride passenger to their setbacks and failures. I’m not that person and I never have been.
In truth, I’m a self-loathing, depressed thinker who constantly dissects every situation and because of it, I put myself in the position of the victim. But rarely, do I ever let anyone in to this world, it’s my world and my secret and it’s no one else’s problem to fix.
When I was younger, I never dreamed of telling my mother any of my problems but now, it seems I’m living a life she’s already lived. She has guided my like the lost puppy I am and reminded me that pride is overrated in the face of love. Without my mother and her infinite wisdom of experience and growing up as an independent woman, I wouldn’t even be able to hold my head up.
But because of her, these boiling emotions that constantly bubble beneath the surface are no longer the center of my life. Sure, they find ways to overwhelm me but all I have to do is sit and think reeeaaaal hard and remind myself that I’m smart, beautiful, genuine, kind and most of all, young. I have a full life ahead of me to redeem the mistakes of my early adulthood and I plan on using the rest of those years living the life that I want and because of the wonderful qualities that are naturally embedded in being, I will never be alone.
Maybe I’m not where I want to be or should be in life, but I’m tired of letting this relationship take charge of how I feel about myself. It may last another month, another year, hell, it might last forever, but as of right now, I am wiping my hands clean of the damage it has done and instead of focusing on the problems of this strained relationship, I’m going to do some damage-control and hopefully, one day walk away from it with my head high and my heart healed. I deserve to be happy.