More often than not lately, it feels like I’m getting absolutely nowhere.
I’ll think that everything is fine, just to turn around and see that it isn’t. Or things aren’t fine, and then I’m expected to act as if they are. If I take one misstep, I feel like it’s game over. I just seems like trying to have a single conversation with the only person I actually feel like talking to, is the end of the entire God damn world, and you have no idea how worthless that makes me feel. I may not openly cry as much as some people do when something is hurting me but, that doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make it any less real.
I can say it to you but, unless you’re a mind-reader, you’ll never really know.
I guess I’m just tired. Tired of the petty little fights, tired of my dog acting out, tired of words I didn’t say being put in my mouth, tired of being accused of things I didn’t do, tired of reaching out to someone just to hit a wall and feel even worse than I already do. Tired. Tired. Tired. I am just so fucking tired.
Those of you who’ve read my last post know that in March, my mother passed away due to cancer. What you don’t know, is that on March 16th, my best friend of 15-years flew down for two weeks to help support me during my mother’s passing… the same best friend that I spoke about in my 4th of July post…
You see, she’s been living in Canada since about 2007 (we met in elementary school), which means she’s entirely trapped here since the border is closed, and since her Prime Minister is doing fuck-all to help her in these times of chaos. That too, is hard.
It’s hard for her to be stuck hundreds of miles away from home, despite having lived here at one time. Hard for her to be away from her mother for so long- which if anyone would understand that, it would be me. Before my mother’s passing, she was my best friend, I was her shadow. We went almost everywhere together, spent every day together, having lunch on the couch, watching cooking shows, watching Netflix… you name it. But sometimes, I also feel like I’m her personal punching bag.
That isn’t fair. It isn’t a fair thing for me to say, or feel, when she might feel the same way about me. But it’s honest.
You know what else is hard? It’s hard for me to have someone who doesn’t- I don’t want to say belong but… belong- being in my personal space. It’s hard for me to have changed almost everything around, my room, my schedule, my entire life while I was already grieving to try to make someone else feel at home in a place that I don’t even see as my home anymore. But I digress, this isn’t about that. Any of that.
I didn’t come on here to complain about her, I guess I just came on here to have someone to talk to because right now, I feel like I have no one. I’m a prisoner in a house that I don’t want to be in with people, who half the time, feel like they would rather be anywhere than sitting in a room having a conversation with me.
And I just don’t know how to get past that.
-S.N.L.
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