Disappointed

I’ve been on extremes for the last few weeks. In between the excitement of putting together my place (I’m finally moving out) would be regular crying sessions in my room as I see this house transform, getting barer and barer each time I come home. My mother’s moving out. Finally, she’s walking her talk.

I won’t deny the resentment I feel toward her. At times I would be hit by such a strong urge to tell her how selfish she’s being. But then, maybe I’m the one who’s being selfish. She has, after all, suffered enough.

But more than the pain of seeing a family fall apart right before my eyes, it’s the unbearable feeling of being alone in the middle of all this that makes me doubt how strong and resilient I am. There’s a nagging feeling I can’t shake off. It keeps telling me, pressuring me that I’m responsible for what happens next and that I have to make things work. (At this point, I’m not quite sure how.)

I’ve been disappointed way too many times over the past few days after being brushed aside by the family that I thought would be there to help me. Again, I feel alone in thinking that this is more important than anything. There are, apparently, more important things than family.

There’s so much bitterness in my heart now that I feel a tinge of hatred toward myself. A part of me thinks I’m not supposed to be alone in this, while another part of me is telling me to stop being such a child. I’m slowly trying to accept that I can’t count so much on anyone else but me (not even family). It’s sad, but it’s the way it seems.

- J

Waste

I remember back when I was a kid, when I used to cry myself to sleep at night after a scolding from my mom. I might have spilled soup on the couch or talked back like a little brat (these are the only reasons I can recall).

I would be in my room with the lights turned off, trying to sleep on my side as I let out a silent cry. In a few minutes, I would hear the doorknob turn and the door squeak a little. It would be her ready to apologize.

She would sit on the edge of the bed; I would be facing the other way pretending to be asleep. She would stoke my arm, brush my hair to the side, lean close and whisper to my ear, “Sorry, anak. I love you.” She would top it off with a kiss and a silent walk out of my room, careful not to “wake me up.” I would cry a little more out of happiness.

In the morning, I would wake up to find a new doll or a pretty piece of clothing or maybe a cute little pouch on the edge of the bed where she sat the night before. She would later ask me if I got what she left for me, and I would say yes. And then we’d be okay.

I can’t say the same thing today. Much has changed since then—from the things we fight over to the ways we respond to each situation. Many things have happened (too many things) that led to our shattered relationship.

I still quietly cry each time we fight, still lying on my side faced away from the door. There’d be no sound of the doorknob twisting or the door squeaking, though. And whenever I wake, there’d be nothing new and pretty waiting for me. We still wouldn’t be okay.

- J

That Nagging Feeling at 5 AM

I’ve been tossing and turning in bed for five hours now, once again taken over by the nagging feeling I’ve been having for weeks. It’s something I’d rather not talk about in detail because I might hurt people along the way. In the process of keeping it all to myself, however, I seem to be constantly hurting myself.

It creeps up whenever it wants to, interrupting my thoughts on other things that are mundane or maybe far less depressing. It stays there for a while, stirring inside me a mix of sadness and resentment. I can’t seem to shake it off, so I fall into a well of even more undesirable emotions.

It’s always a struggle to fight that nagging feeling. A lot of positive self-talk is essential to survive every episode. I get by thinking that, “This, too, shall pass.” It will, I know; I just hope soon.

- J