K, if Loreena McKennit can't help me, no one can
OK, Ashley.
Breathe, stretch, shake, let it go.
I need my own space. My own place in this universe. My own little corner. Maybe filled with rich colors and warm-scented candles and the things that calm me. My oasis. I love being home with the people that I love the most, but at this moment in time, I don't have that space. I don't have a room. I can't escape.
I'm staying with Mom while I'm on winter break - but the catch is that she's in this apartment right now. We sold our house, and the couple who we bought our new house from isn't ready to move out yet (will they ever be?). For me, that means close quarters with my mom. All day. Every day. Twenty-four seven. I'm at the point where you find yourself standing on an edge of a cliff and deciding which choice seems better. Jump?? JUMP??? Before I LOSE MY SANITY?!
Because my mom? She can be veryyyyy childish. OK, we're in this apartment for the time being. She spends at LEAST a half hour a day complaining about how she hates it here, it's not hers, it's not home, and on and on. Is it really that big of a deal? I guess I'm a little more mellow. I can be happy pretty much...anywhere. As long as I have the things I need. You know. My little corner - and a few certain people close at hand.
I can only listen to someone complain about something for so long, barring that it isn't something huge and life altering like the death of a sister or something like that. I mean. All I hear about is how unhappy she is. More than hear about it. I see it in her actions and interactions. I am understanding of the big life changes that she's went through. I know they haven't been easy. But she needs a new perspective!!!!!!! And I know that isn't easy either, but she isn't willing to try. Does it MATTER that she's here for a few months? Is her life really affected that much by this? No. You'd think the other things that have being ongoing in the past few years would put things in better perspective: what doesn't matter, what does. What's a big deal, what's not. Instead, she hangs herself up on every tiny, small imperfection that she can and builds a mountain out of a molehill. Like she enjoys unhappiness or something. And refuses to listen to anyone who tries to tell her different.
And I live with this. This constant moodiness, snapping, bipolar, cry, angry, gloomy. So then she argues and argues and tells me that I don't listen to her or understand her. Or maybe. MAYBE. Maybe, mom, you need to take a minute and look in the mirror. Reevaluate your approach to life. It's not everybody else. Stop blaming things and people. It's you. Get a grip for pete's sake!!
But it's easier to fight with everyone around you until you fight them all away. Until they're barely sane and plugged into their computer in the furthest corner of this itty bitty apartment listening to kooky Loreena McKennit and trying to get a grip.
OK. Usually I'm empathetic. I have unfortunately reached the end of my fuse.
Life's not easy. I'm 21 and I know this. It's not something that's a big secret to people (except those few lucky shits who have a horse shoe up...you-know-where). You take what you've got and you turn it over and over in the light until you find the best angle, or at least find something to take from it. And reality is ugly some days, but you don't pretend it's not there and you also don't hang yourself up on it so much that you're lost in it, in gray, shades and shades of it.
Not that I'm the queen of being able to do that. If I was, I'd be perfectly happy, too. I'm not. But I'm trying. Always taking inventory, reevaluating. Sometimes I buckle and I get in ruts, but I try to pull myself out.
Usually I do.
I have this fear. This fear that I will be her and get stuck in my rut. Stuck, and failing to grow and change and evolve. I always want to be a butterfly.
Breathe, stretch, shake, let it go.
Breathe, stretch, shake, let it go.
I need my own space. My own place in this universe. My own little corner. Maybe filled with rich colors and warm-scented candles and the things that calm me. My oasis. I love being home with the people that I love the most, but at this moment in time, I don't have that space. I don't have a room. I can't escape.
I'm staying with Mom while I'm on winter break - but the catch is that she's in this apartment right now. We sold our house, and the couple who we bought our new house from isn't ready to move out yet (will they ever be?). For me, that means close quarters with my mom. All day. Every day. Twenty-four seven. I'm at the point where you find yourself standing on an edge of a cliff and deciding which choice seems better. Jump?? JUMP??? Before I LOSE MY SANITY?!
Because my mom? She can be veryyyyy childish. OK, we're in this apartment for the time being. She spends at LEAST a half hour a day complaining about how she hates it here, it's not hers, it's not home, and on and on. Is it really that big of a deal? I guess I'm a little more mellow. I can be happy pretty much...anywhere. As long as I have the things I need. You know. My little corner - and a few certain people close at hand.
I can only listen to someone complain about something for so long, barring that it isn't something huge and life altering like the death of a sister or something like that. I mean. All I hear about is how unhappy she is. More than hear about it. I see it in her actions and interactions. I am understanding of the big life changes that she's went through. I know they haven't been easy. But she needs a new perspective!!!!!!! And I know that isn't easy either, but she isn't willing to try. Does it MATTER that she's here for a few months? Is her life really affected that much by this? No. You'd think the other things that have being ongoing in the past few years would put things in better perspective: what doesn't matter, what does. What's a big deal, what's not. Instead, she hangs herself up on every tiny, small imperfection that she can and builds a mountain out of a molehill. Like she enjoys unhappiness or something. And refuses to listen to anyone who tries to tell her different.
And I live with this. This constant moodiness, snapping, bipolar, cry, angry, gloomy. So then she argues and argues and tells me that I don't listen to her or understand her. Or maybe. MAYBE. Maybe, mom, you need to take a minute and look in the mirror. Reevaluate your approach to life. It's not everybody else. Stop blaming things and people. It's you. Get a grip for pete's sake!!
But it's easier to fight with everyone around you until you fight them all away. Until they're barely sane and plugged into their computer in the furthest corner of this itty bitty apartment listening to kooky Loreena McKennit and trying to get a grip.
OK. Usually I'm empathetic. I have unfortunately reached the end of my fuse.
Life's not easy. I'm 21 and I know this. It's not something that's a big secret to people (except those few lucky shits who have a horse shoe up...you-know-where). You take what you've got and you turn it over and over in the light until you find the best angle, or at least find something to take from it. And reality is ugly some days, but you don't pretend it's not there and you also don't hang yourself up on it so much that you're lost in it, in gray, shades and shades of it.
Not that I'm the queen of being able to do that. If I was, I'd be perfectly happy, too. I'm not. But I'm trying. Always taking inventory, reevaluating. Sometimes I buckle and I get in ruts, but I try to pull myself out.
Usually I do.
I have this fear. This fear that I will be her and get stuck in my rut. Stuck, and failing to grow and change and evolve. I always want to be a butterfly.
Breathe, stretch, shake, let it go.