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.