I said no. I did it. A difficult choice from which will be the smaller pain. Relief.
It was to say ‘I don’t think this is going to work’ to one of the most beautiful minds I’ve ever met.
Timing. It’s always the damn timing. Why won’t this demon leave my body.
To the flat. Cold Shower. Angry at the fact that I would sometimes black out of this
world with panic when dealing with humans and releationships. Nine months clear, three more to go
untill I could have been declared free. And my anxiety won’t leave me.
I’m writing this on a very lonely day, which is usually my favourite day of the year. But I’m not
there where the day turns special. Home, but didn’t want to stay because I felt that wouldn’t work. Either.
Sitting here, wearing a stupid sailor hat, because this time last year I wasn’t allowed to wear it.
I had to earn it. And I finished the goal. Graduation.
It takes seventy five plus courses in three years to consider yourself ‘educated’ and then move on to even educate
yourself for the most of your twenties to become something special. To find your place in this world.
So I left home.
“Going to make myself all prettied up to cheer myself up, before I start making doughnuts. NOM.”
Happened. Small smile for a while untill the phone rings. I answer. “Hi dear. Happy Labour Day, honey.”
I run into my room, because I don’t want my roommate to see me weak and pathetic like this.
I was always the one to show her tough side to the world. Because I saw those girls who were out and
open with their feelings and saw the men looking at them like “Pfft. Typical, women and their hormones.”
I would not be one of those women. I wanted to show those men ever since I was young that no one should ever
even think about fucking with me if your reasoning is I’m a woman.
“Oh…Hi Dad,” I say, suddenly the crying stops. I was never gonna let him hear, cause I didn’t want to effect
the mood. “Hey dear, how’s it going?” “It’s fine, Dad. You know celebrating like you guys back at home.” We chat
a bit and he says, “Want me to give this to mom?” “Sure Dad.”
As soon as I hear her voice I start crying. The loneliness and the biggest home sickness of my life takes over me.
Even my anxiety has never felt this heavy. She cheers me up a bit and for a second I think Phew, I made it.She
asks: “What is your best friend doing today?” I cry again. “She’s celebrating with the rest of our friends, home.”
Eventually, she makes me stop crying and is being a supportive mother. Like the best mother in the world would.
We finally stop. “I love you, daughter.” “I love you, parents.” I put my phone down, keep sitting on my bed.
Cry again. I’m here alone, by choice. I made this decision to leave.
People say travelling when you’re young is eye-opening. Moving to a different country is brave. Doing your own thing, rad.
Yeah…rad. Even when you’re surrounded by people, you’re alone. You’re not home, at least yet.
I’m so tired of doing this role. I don’t think that’s gonna work.
I’m not strong. I’m not brave. I’m not different.
I’m alone. I’m hurt. I’m confused. I want to make me work.