How sad, a puppet with a love for her strings.
I'm starting the year off like you might expect me to. Another move, another loss, another step back.
I thought maybe there was some meaning to being right back to where I started. Someone saying 'Here, here is where you lost yourself, work backwards to where you last stood. Get it back'.
I'm moving out by February. I've been full circle for only three weeks.
Someone asked me what I would want that would make me happier, and I said my own place in the farthest state west that I could get; with a laptop so that I could write. It seems so simple. Just get away, be able to breathe, sleep at night, be my own person. I can't get away.
Like always everyone's hands are bound except seemingly my own. I must step up and carry the weight, I must make more sacrifices as I grow older and everyone around me stays the same. I must hold up the small fragments of my family. It would be easier if they worked together, but they don't mind causing me to juggle. My life is just a joke, a badly painted backdrop.
I scramblescramblescramble to hold onto anything that promises to leave me feeling lighter, but it always floats away. I don't blame anyone, my life is one big slip. If I don't suffocate you first, you will eventually fall down with me.
I wish I could be as blind as the rest of my family. Perhaps I need to take a handful of painkillers each day and set up on the couch in the living room with everyone else. Smoke cigarettes and add to the weightless gloom. Shades perpetually shut, walls yellowing, skin yellowing, time yellowing but everything else staying the same. Dominoes stacked up. Back to back. We all fall down.
I just can't leave my broken family and now a new member is going to need me.
I am who I am. I will never turn away.
It hurts but it's also such a relief to finally surrender.
Rock bottom seems pretty stable, and I know where to go for company.
If only there was something that made some sense. I would hold on.
I'm changing.