Little by little, pieces of who I used to be disappears. At least that is what I have been hearing for the past month from my relatives.
I don't think much of it, but sometimes late at night, like right now, it hits me. I start to question myself and my choices, something I try not to do often because it turns into an interrogation scene.
My relatives, mostly from my dad's side, aren't my favorite. Literally all I hear from them is 'money, money, money, we need money, we demand money' I don't think they understand that money doesn't just fly our way because we live in America.
Anyways, my relatives constantly ask me if I even know they exist after I come back to NY. Being my usual self, I would love to reply with "I would love to forget y'all but ya don't wanna shut the fuck up" but instead I keep the bored expression and reply with "No, never! How can I ever forget about you guys? "
Then they proceed to ask me why I don't call and why I don't talk to them when my mom calls.
I don't if it's just me, but I think is everyone forgetting the real reason I came to America is for better education. The past 6 years has been on and off Hell for me. Okay, maybe not the first 3 years, but the recent 3 has been chaotic Hell. Middle School has fucked with me and my life way more than I was expecting. Like honey, please chill the fuck out. I'm tired of getting fucked.
I have been unwilling fucking up my brain because of all the stress middle school put me in. From high expectations to boyfriend drama, I have not been given time to rest that lasted more than a week. I am always running back and forth between things; therefore, I am left with no time and energy to call my relatives and put up fake happiness.
But, do they ever try to understand my situations? Nope! No matter how many times I tried to explain to them, they were too stubborn to actually listen. So I did something I never thought I'd do: I stopped trying.I stopped giving a damn about what they think and feel. I gave up on them and so did my family.
There was this one person I refused to give up on. He was a playmate. He was my best friend. He was the one who used to always, and I do mean always, understand me when no one would.
{More about him in the next chapter.}
I was hoping he would understand the situation I was in and say that he didn't mind, but, to my surprise, he turned like my relatives. Soon, I had to give up on him, too.
I don't usually give up hope, but when I do, something must seriously be wrong.
Life is really a bitch at times. *sigh*
