My Story

Difficulties

Goddammit, why is life so hard?

Some people think that over time, the pain lessens, that it fades, or at least dulls. But that's not really true. It's still there, if not worse. Maybe for the past few months, I've been subconciously in denial. Or maybe it's subconciously concious, if that makes any sense. It's easier to put the feelings, memories, and emotions, in a little denial safe, lock it up, and throw away the key. It's easier to shove things aside saying, "I'll deal with it later". It's like trying to procrastincate grief. But the thing all procrastinators have in common is what you put aside comes back to haunt you later. Now, reality is hitting me in the face. Hard. When I come to terms with what my future looks like, it's both a needle sharp stab, and a deep, longing ache. It's homesickness, the longing, the missing, the yearning for her, mom, mommy. I miss her food and the way she woke me up in the morning. I miss the sound of her voice greeting me when I came home. I miss her hugs, her kisses, her love, her affection. I miss her scolding, her discipline, her anger and emotion. I'm afraid. I'm afraid that over time, I'll start forgetting her. I'm scared I won't remember the sound of her voice or the way her hands felt or the way her hair smells. I'm terrified of losing her face, the mental image I have of what she looks like. I want to go back. To have a family again, to have a life again. Before I looked at the future with optimism. But now, all I see is a bleak stretch of living, years follow each other, countless day after another, a million ticks and tocks. Life, then death. What else is there? I don't want to think about it, but I have to. I don't want to constantly remind myself of what I have lost, but if I don't, then will I forget what I once had? Will this new life, this new family, this new place, all I had, have, and ever will have? Memories hurt. I think about all the happy times we've had togehter. I guess you'd think that would make me happy. But all I can think about is how I'm never going to make those happy memories with my mom ever again. How is that possible? Where is she? WHERE IS SHE?

I want to be a child. A little child. I want to be able o convince myself that this reality is not real, but na alternate universe. A dream. One day I'll wake up and someone will be like, " Just kididng! None of that actually happened!" Ha. I wish.

People don't know how hard the littlest things are. The memories that a tree or a book or a car or a word can bring up. When the wall of hurt comes, I push it away, stow it in my little safe deposit box. Because people don;t want to listen to your problems at school or in class or when you're hanging out. They've got their own problems. Everyone's got problems. Wattpad user totallycrazie (go follow her!) described our problems pretty accurately, writing me this beautiful passage:

"We hold on to our own problems. We each have our own secrets and own disasters and we carry them around with us all the time and nobody bothers to ask or care because they have their lives to worry, their own things that keep them up all night and make them cry themselves to sleep. Their own things that make them open their eyes every morning, stare at the ceiling, and wonder “why am I still here?”

You don’t know how many lives you have touched until your dead. All the people who will cry for you: friends, family, and people you never knew even cared. Those people whose lives will be damaged by your death will just have another thing to hold inside. But it’s just as true that when you’re alive, you’re only aware of the lives you haven’t touched." 

Thanks, totallycrazie. Love ya!