All that is on my mind currently:
Christmas, a time for friends, family, and the spirit of giving. I guess two out of three isn’t all that bad. I have got some baked love to hand out to all the people that have made this year worth living and I am very excited to present it to them, but something is missing. I was raised with my stepmother, my father, and my two younger siblings; I was never really fond of my Dad for reasons better left unsaid, but everyone else is mandatory to my basic functioning. I had to move away three years ago after the divorce, due to her lacking custody and me not wanting to burden her further as a single mother. I have been able to travel to spend at least a chunk of the holiday with them in past years, however this year I have been working and taking on extra shifts in order to pay for some of my college loans that will be accumulating here shortly. I am having issues facing the fact that this Christmas is going to be hard on me. It hurts to see everyone missing you when you have to leave abruptly to go to work, cutting everyone’s time short. It hurts to see how much my siblings have grown when I sit back and remember like it was yesterday when I was reading bedtime stories to them.
I would move in, but I can’t. Well technicality I could, but then my mother has almost sworn to disown me. I don’t know why that thought bugs me. I have never been close to her or her husband or anyone on that part of my family to any meaningful extent. Why can’t I just leave? At this point, my mother barely provides for me and I could provide a portion of the income for my stepmother if she needed it. I would have love, support, and actually have interest in what was going on with my life. I was raised with that and now that it is gone these past three years have left me hollow. It pains me to just visit my stepmother, following it I have weeks of homesickness and emotional torment; but the longer I go, the less it hurts. It probably seems immature, but I just don’t know. Maybe I’m just not strong enough. I just don’t know.
I can go weeks without talking to my mother, even though we live together. The current record is two weeks and the only words she said to me were asking about how was work. Who can go two weeks without talking and then simply ask about the most impersonal thing besides the weather? Maybe this is how other families function. I feel like I have nowhere to turn for answers about this. I know that I should just be thankful that I have a roof over my head and that I am no longer getting abused, but that four month span after the divorce where it had just been my me, stepmom, and two siblings completely altered my perspective. I know I will never have that back fully and the only way I can get it back for good is to model my own family on what she has taught me. It all seems to brief; all of life is a breath. Here for a second and then dying the next. I need to cherish what I have left on this spinning blue marble, for it will all be gone soon enough.
So, go ahead and tell me I was wrong. I went through my boyfriend’s blog. Normally he shows me every post, despite them being blocked from public view. I came home early and decided to do a little reading before I started to clean. I pull up the page and my excitement builds. I always love getting little peeks into his thought process and what I pull up makes my heart cringe. He wrote about us. How he is feeling replaced. All I could think is that I hate myself. Hate isn’t a strong enough word really. It disgusted me to think that one of the most important people in my life felt left out. I get that I’ve been busy, but god why so harsh. It kills me to think that I made him feel this way. Once he came home, I did my best to make him feel loved and to see how much he means to me. I then proceed to ask if he has written anything. My heart plummets a second time. His response was “No”. Pain. Betrayal. Guilt. I hate this feeling. This worry. Why would he lie about something that simple? He has sat and talked about his ex’s showed me posts about past dates. None are nearly important and yet the others were more abrasive. Why? I can handle you telling me that I’ve been a sub-par girlfriend. I completely understand. I’m going to say something tomorrow once I get my thoughts sorted out. So many thoughts equals very little sleep for me.
The still of the morning air quivered with expectation, an electric hum that could be felt. Gently drifting around me were snowflakes and a thin layer covered the still vibrant emerald blades of grass. The hush of the woods seemed patiently waiting for me to whisper a sweet solemn secret to them. The deciduous trees were bare and skeletal, whilst the thick boughs of the evergreens seemed to shroud them in their leaves. I turned in place and the crunch of snow beneath my boots seemed to break the tension. I stood to face his– I mean our house. This was a place that I was expected to raise a family. How could I do that? Just simply walk away from the freedom and lack of responsibilities? How do I face the ever calling challenge of bringing stability to our house? Bird calls littered the flow of my thoughts. How merry it must be to have wings, but it is true that every bird must return to a nest. Unless I was a penguin…
Our house. The mahogany deck looked even darker in the damp; underneath was an odd assortment of metal objects, mowers a grill, and what looked to be a tiller. So much needed to be sorted and cleaned and taken care of, it almost overwhelms me to think of the inexhaustible list of chores and my finite amounts of energy. It was curious however, within the white paneled siding and under the mouse grey roof, an immeasurable amount of love seemed to seep out. It couldn’t be contained. All the hopes and wishes for the future, our future together, seemed to meld my insecurities with the strength and security that lie nearly dormant. The door cracked open and the sunlight caught his bright orange hair. Sleep held his eyelids captive as he let out a wide yawn. A navy bath robe covered his torso, covering the galaxies of freckles that spanned his shoulders. His eyes open again and they match the color of the sky when seen through an icicle. An icy blue that demands attention.
“Good morning Lovey, thank you for making me tea'” he lilted down the steps to me.
The corners of his lips turned up in a gentle smile. Only once I saw it reach his eyes did I allow myself the luxury to bask in his love and gratitude. Stress seeped out of my body and the tension in my muscles retreated, it was as if he had sucked the poison from my veins. My steps started slow, heavy and fatigued from the uncertainty. By the time I reached the steps, I was close to a full sprint and up the stairs I sped, bulldozing him in a flurry of ice and snow. Our lips align and melt the cold away, in a brief moment I know we are perfectly in tune with each other.
“Anytime, you know I would do anything for you,”
I feel a sly grin tugging at the corners of my mouth knowing that he will never entirely know how I feel for him.
My life seems to have been defined by life circumstances, rather than my own decisions. I’m left wondering why. I don’t live with regrets,since it is part of my morals; but things could be entirely different.
When I was fourteen, I received a delayed acceptance to Mary Baldwin’s PEG program, this would have allowed me to go to college before graduating from high school. It was a delayed acceptance due to the simple fact of life that money was tight. It always was tight due to my father’s alcoholism and later discovered drug addiction. All of that however is for another post some day. I ended up turning that offer down, because my family was splitting into pieces again and I needed to be part of the pickup crew. I didn’t mind too terribly much. The reason I had applied was to leave my father behind and escape the ever growing animosity he harbored in his heart against me. The divorce didn’t happen until the winter in which I was fifteen.
Of course the sanctuary that my stepmother and siblings provided when my father finally left would be short lived. All little birds must leave the nest. I felt even to this day that it was a premature departure from a place I would call home. My stepmother had no legal custody and I knew that if I had denied my mother her right to snatch me up, then the damage would be close to irreparable. I have had talks with her in the past year confirming that she would have put her needs above mine and wouldn’t have forgave me for staying with my stepmother. I traded in the slow pace of country life with the bustling existence of suburbia. I couldn’t call it living what I did these past two years. It was really learning how to get back on my feet.
My life could have been different. My life probably could have been better. All these factors seem out of my control, despite how desperately I wish to be the puppeteer. How deftly I would maneuver them, the situations and people spinning to an unheard waltz. Everything complimenting each other beautifully. Alas.
Now there has come a new complication in my life; it is neither in my parents’ control, nor is it firmly in my control. If I were to seize the helm, then I could face social isolation from my family. I could play the safe road and adhere to everyone else’s wishes, but it would have me give up my say in my future. My parents have made it exceedingly clear that they expect me to act as an adult financially, which is to be expected, yet they will not allow me to move out. I have yet to understand their rationale and am presently waiting for an explanation beyond “because I told you so”.
Maybe I’m the one who can’t see past my desire to be free or maybe it is as it was before. Either way, I’ll stick to the passive road and pray that it’ll get me to where I hope to be going.