The best cure to a difficult day is to rush home after work, with tears viciously stinging my eyes as I conquer rush hour traffic, and go to the comfort of my bed and cry. It might not be the most effective or healthy way to deal with a problem, but crying it out until there are no more tears just makes things a little easier to deal with.
That day I was crying about not getting approved for the house I wanted. I was convinced that a complete family had swooped in there after me and charmed the landlord with their perfect complete familyness. They probably get Glamour Shots done and drive a minivan with bucket seats and DVD players and they are just renting this house because their dream house is still being built on a beautiful meadow of bluebells and lavender.
I am sure that particular had nothing against single parents, but the fact of the matter is, he probably didn't particularly like my single income. I realize things might have been a little tighter there financially, but I was planning on writing more and being more artistic and those things would have made me so much happier and happier people get paid more - I think that's a statistical fact and if it's not it probably should be.
Accepting who you have become is not always easy. As I had a bawl-fest under my fifteen year old tiger blanket I began to think of my life as it was before. I thought of the time when I was happiest. For the first time ever, I realized I wasn't crying over him. I was crying over the security I have lost. It was the first time I realized that our relationship was always flawed. The evidence is all there (Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three) I was just too blind to see it until now - and all it took was an imaginary perfect family to take that all away from me.
Looking back now, I have doubts in my mind that he loved me the way I thought he did. I mean, I did so many stupid things. So many. I was 19 when we first met. I was 21 when we were in a serious relationship and by 22 I was the mother of his child. He was six years older than me and I sometimes wonder if our relationship made him feel like he was the nurturer and I was the carefree, immature being that he could take care of. We were like Bert and Ernie...I'll leave you to think about that one for a while...
I loved that about him. He was my grumpy caretaker who made sure I ate real food and made sure that nobody got away with stealing my Dirty Dancing DVD.
I had so much growing up to do, but in my mind I was fully grown. I cried over everything that didn't go my way (and I still kind of do), I didn't see reason and I was so apathetic. He tried to make me responsible, and I saw it as him being controlling.
In some strange twist of fate, I have become him - and it scares me to death. I hate being the responsible one. I hate having to face the world without having someone there to catch me when I fall or to have someone there who will guide me in the right direction.
I am a coward.
|I thought this picture was kind of fitting for this post...look how much I haven't changed over the years. Scary.|
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hello..this is my blog. I bought this fancy theme and I don't know what to write here just yet. Maybe one day remind me I have to write something inspiring here?