Reflections
Well, I've moved out.
It's kinda weird, really -- almost like nothing is different. All my stuff is moved, save my gerbils and a couple of other items, but it's like nothing's different.
Maybe it's because I was used to living in a house where I didn't view my family as...well...a family, and now that I've moved, I am closer to those whom I live with, and consider them more family than my own (except my sisters, whom I love just as well), but knowing that they aren't the family I've lived with my whole life feels slightly awkward, but it's not a bad thing.
I love them. This is just something that I'll have to get used to, and it probably won't take very long.
I do miss my dogs. It's a good thing my mother hasn't decided to use some sort of blackmail using them against me. I don't know what I'd do. I'm sure they would find better homes (if it came down to that), but I would still be devastated. She says she hates having them in the house, but I think that, deep down, she appreciates them. I've found that dogs cannot be considered pets to be fully understood; they have to be considered family, and that's the main reason my mother has such a difficult time with them.
I've wondered about myself as of late, as well. Inside, I've always been shy, understanding, a little unsure (but confident, if that makes any sense), blushing, goofy and ditsy. I'm intelligent (I'm not cocky, I'm just stating this because people often mistake ditsiness and occassional spaciness to be symptoms of stupidity), hard working and quiet. I love to learn (though I am quite the procrastinator), and I am very creative. I've been told that I don't have much of a sense of humor, which is more and more obvious to me everyday, but I laugh when I do think something's funny.
On the outside I'm more cynical and mean, and I tend to be more of a loud mouth. I'm more anal about things, and I act like a mother figure. I'm more hyper and joking (although not all of my jokes necessarily work). If people saw what I was on the inside all the time, I honestly believe that I would be more lonely than happy. Maybe I'm not afraid of being alone...maybe I just think I should be.
It's not that I am afraid of who I am. I never really have been. It's more that I don't want people that I'm not sure of to know who I am. On the inside, I am cold and almost seem uncaring to those whom I do not feel comfortable with, but warm, lenient and affectionate to those I do. I don't know why I've always had that discrimination.
The same goes for my feelings of anger. I rarely get angry or frustrated, but when I do, I tend to dissociate myself from the world, particularly from those whom my anger is directed. I control my anger and look for resolve. When I become infuriated, however, my initial reaction is to be completely bombastic in a type of temporary reasoned insanity (something that I've been working on), yelling and crying in attempt to bring blood to a boil so that it can reduce to a simmer for lack of energy.
I've never hit a loved one out of anger. And I never would. My mother (and her father to her) did otherwise, something that has scarred me. Because of those scars, however, I am reminded of what not to be and the reasons for it.
Perhaps one day I will be able to survey my life in retrospect to see how effort on my part has made my life fuller and richer than what it was before now. I wish for that, am willing to work for it, and that's what matters.
It's kinda weird, really -- almost like nothing is different. All my stuff is moved, save my gerbils and a couple of other items, but it's like nothing's different.
Maybe it's because I was used to living in a house where I didn't view my family as...well...a family, and now that I've moved, I am closer to those whom I live with, and consider them more family than my own (except my sisters, whom I love just as well), but knowing that they aren't the family I've lived with my whole life feels slightly awkward, but it's not a bad thing.
I love them. This is just something that I'll have to get used to, and it probably won't take very long.
I do miss my dogs. It's a good thing my mother hasn't decided to use some sort of blackmail using them against me. I don't know what I'd do. I'm sure they would find better homes (if it came down to that), but I would still be devastated. She says she hates having them in the house, but I think that, deep down, she appreciates them. I've found that dogs cannot be considered pets to be fully understood; they have to be considered family, and that's the main reason my mother has such a difficult time with them.
I've wondered about myself as of late, as well. Inside, I've always been shy, understanding, a little unsure (but confident, if that makes any sense), blushing, goofy and ditsy. I'm intelligent (I'm not cocky, I'm just stating this because people often mistake ditsiness and occassional spaciness to be symptoms of stupidity), hard working and quiet. I love to learn (though I am quite the procrastinator), and I am very creative. I've been told that I don't have much of a sense of humor, which is more and more obvious to me everyday, but I laugh when I do think something's funny.
On the outside I'm more cynical and mean, and I tend to be more of a loud mouth. I'm more anal about things, and I act like a mother figure. I'm more hyper and joking (although not all of my jokes necessarily work). If people saw what I was on the inside all the time, I honestly believe that I would be more lonely than happy. Maybe I'm not afraid of being alone...maybe I just think I should be.
It's not that I am afraid of who I am. I never really have been. It's more that I don't want people that I'm not sure of to know who I am. On the inside, I am cold and almost seem uncaring to those whom I do not feel comfortable with, but warm, lenient and affectionate to those I do. I don't know why I've always had that discrimination.
The same goes for my feelings of anger. I rarely get angry or frustrated, but when I do, I tend to dissociate myself from the world, particularly from those whom my anger is directed. I control my anger and look for resolve. When I become infuriated, however, my initial reaction is to be completely bombastic in a type of temporary reasoned insanity (something that I've been working on), yelling and crying in attempt to bring blood to a boil so that it can reduce to a simmer for lack of energy.
I've never hit a loved one out of anger. And I never would. My mother (and her father to her) did otherwise, something that has scarred me. Because of those scars, however, I am reminded of what not to be and the reasons for it.
Perhaps one day I will be able to survey my life in retrospect to see how effort on my part has made my life fuller and richer than what it was before now. I wish for that, am willing to work for it, and that's what matters.