Things We Will Always Regret
Today my Mom screamed at me.
I don't mean she yelled, I mean she completely and totally lost it and screamed. Sobbing uncontrollably, she told me that I needed to go upstairs and she didn't want to see me.
Then she shut herself in the bathroom and it took me five minutes to get her out.
It's been a long summer for her.
It's been a really long summer for her.
I didn't do anything, honest. She has just reached her breaking point and I was the one here when it all came flooding out.
It was a rough day.
When I have to tell somebody everything that she's been dealing with this summer I always end up including, "Then, of course, there's been my surgery and that hasn't made anything any easier on her."
People keep on telling me that it's ridiculous to think that I'm a burden on people and I guess that I'm not anymore. If anyone can honestly look me in the eye and tell me that this whole ordeal hasn't affected a ton of people negatively I'll point out a liar to you.
I feel like I'm having trouble getting over this whole thing and that makes me feel retarded. This is probably the point where anyone with any insight into me would say some biting comment about me actually being retarded about the whole thing and then I would feel like an idiot and try and get over it.
If you are ever reading the book Different Seasons by Stephen King, just go ahead and skip over Apt Pupil after you finish Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption. The latter will fill you with hope and a sense of purpose, the former will simply crush that spirit and leave you feeling empty inside. That is probably not a feeling that I need right now, however, I'm 80 pages into the novella and now I'm screwed because I have to finish it.
I just can't wait to get to The Body after that. It's the story of Stand By Me the movie and I'm pretty much ready to read that. After that it's on to The Catcher in the Rye while I still have the chance to get the book.
I'm tired and I'm ready to be back at school. I miss Hace and Evan. Together. I realize that I spent hardly any time with them together this summer. Some of my fondest memories of senior year were whenever the three of us were together. Something about the way that we all work and play off each other, it's something that I treasure.
I did spend this last weekend with Evan and Eric. It was good. It's interesting how my summer hasn't really been over for the last three years till I went to Hilton Head. I wonder if I'll be able to end a summer without going to Hilton Head now... I wonder if it'll feel right...
I am very tired though. Spiritually, emotionally, and a little bit physically. I need a recharge.
Columbia... will you be my recharge?
I need a change of scenery.
If I could have one thing in life. It would be the ability to be a storyteller. Like Steven King, like Marc Roberge, be it in written word or song. If I could convery a story with the air of a true storyteller that's what I want.
You know what was sad? After I had been sitting outside my Mom's bathroom door for five minutes listening to her wracking sobs, just saying occasionally.
"Mom?"
What? She would gasp.
"Can you open the door?"
She would pull herself together for this: No, I don't want to talk about this right now can you just go away?
"No."
Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Maybe four or five times. Till she finally opened the door. I hugged her and told her I loved her a million times. I didn't let go till she let go. She moved off to the kitchen, sniffling and eyes still blurry with tears.
I walked upstairs under the pretense of getting a shirt to put on. I sat on the end of my bed and cried for a few minutes because that's all I had.
Here's the sad part: I thought, "Who can I call? Where can I go for a hug? What can I do?" Nothing came because there is no one here. So I fought the rest of the day out on my own. Self pity? Maybe. Loneliness? Definetely.
I don't pity my situation, I'm not upset at everyone for not being here physically. I'm not upset that the situation. I'm not looking for your pity I promise. I'm not looking for a thousand comments about how sad you are for me, or how you wish you could have been there. I'm really not. I'm sharing my life with you because this is the only way I know to deal with it. With you, the ones that have always been there in spirit, whether or not you can be there physically.
Looking back on the entry, it really is pathetic and I really do sound like the saddest sap in the whole wide world. I'm really not. It's just a rough day or two.
And it's been a really, really long summer for my Mom.
really... really... really long.
That's what hurts the most.
18 days till I'll hear it... I jet engine to the center of the storm and I'll be thinking that I prefer not to be rescued
I don't mean she yelled, I mean she completely and totally lost it and screamed. Sobbing uncontrollably, she told me that I needed to go upstairs and she didn't want to see me.
Then she shut herself in the bathroom and it took me five minutes to get her out.
It's been a long summer for her.
It's been a really long summer for her.
I didn't do anything, honest. She has just reached her breaking point and I was the one here when it all came flooding out.
It was a rough day.
When I have to tell somebody everything that she's been dealing with this summer I always end up including, "Then, of course, there's been my surgery and that hasn't made anything any easier on her."
People keep on telling me that it's ridiculous to think that I'm a burden on people and I guess that I'm not anymore. If anyone can honestly look me in the eye and tell me that this whole ordeal hasn't affected a ton of people negatively I'll point out a liar to you.
I feel like I'm having trouble getting over this whole thing and that makes me feel retarded. This is probably the point where anyone with any insight into me would say some biting comment about me actually being retarded about the whole thing and then I would feel like an idiot and try and get over it.
If you are ever reading the book Different Seasons by Stephen King, just go ahead and skip over Apt Pupil after you finish Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption. The latter will fill you with hope and a sense of purpose, the former will simply crush that spirit and leave you feeling empty inside. That is probably not a feeling that I need right now, however, I'm 80 pages into the novella and now I'm screwed because I have to finish it.
I just can't wait to get to The Body after that. It's the story of Stand By Me the movie and I'm pretty much ready to read that. After that it's on to The Catcher in the Rye while I still have the chance to get the book.
I'm tired and I'm ready to be back at school. I miss Hace and Evan. Together. I realize that I spent hardly any time with them together this summer. Some of my fondest memories of senior year were whenever the three of us were together. Something about the way that we all work and play off each other, it's something that I treasure.
I did spend this last weekend with Evan and Eric. It was good. It's interesting how my summer hasn't really been over for the last three years till I went to Hilton Head. I wonder if I'll be able to end a summer without going to Hilton Head now... I wonder if it'll feel right...
I am very tired though. Spiritually, emotionally, and a little bit physically. I need a recharge.
Columbia... will you be my recharge?
I need a change of scenery.
If I could have one thing in life. It would be the ability to be a storyteller. Like Steven King, like Marc Roberge, be it in written word or song. If I could convery a story with the air of a true storyteller that's what I want.
You know what was sad? After I had been sitting outside my Mom's bathroom door for five minutes listening to her wracking sobs, just saying occasionally.
"Mom?"
What? She would gasp.
"Can you open the door?"
She would pull herself together for this: No, I don't want to talk about this right now can you just go away?
"No."
Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Maybe four or five times. Till she finally opened the door. I hugged her and told her I loved her a million times. I didn't let go till she let go. She moved off to the kitchen, sniffling and eyes still blurry with tears.
I walked upstairs under the pretense of getting a shirt to put on. I sat on the end of my bed and cried for a few minutes because that's all I had.
Here's the sad part: I thought, "Who can I call? Where can I go for a hug? What can I do?" Nothing came because there is no one here. So I fought the rest of the day out on my own. Self pity? Maybe. Loneliness? Definetely.
I don't pity my situation, I'm not upset at everyone for not being here physically. I'm not upset that the situation. I'm not looking for your pity I promise. I'm not looking for a thousand comments about how sad you are for me, or how you wish you could have been there. I'm really not. I'm sharing my life with you because this is the only way I know to deal with it. With you, the ones that have always been there in spirit, whether or not you can be there physically.
Looking back on the entry, it really is pathetic and I really do sound like the saddest sap in the whole wide world. I'm really not. It's just a rough day or two.
And it's been a really, really long summer for my Mom.
really... really... really long.
That's what hurts the most.
18 days till I'll hear it... I jet engine to the center of the storm and I'll be thinking that I prefer not to be rescued