I wasnt

I came to the harsh realization today that “my mom” doesn’t really care about me. Shes just scared to do it alone. Although Im not sure it would necessarily be referred to as “Harsh” or “Realization.” Its something, I guess, that I have known. But just put to words today. Neither of my parents, really care. Or cared. I don’t say this to sound like a spoiled brat, once again, bashing my parents. The ones who brought me into existence, atleast. This afternoon, it became painfully obvious, that she would rather keep herself in a situation – that is or was hell – just to not be alone. She would rather endanger, upset, and cause numerous amounts of stress on not only herself, but others…rather than walking away. Admitting failure. Admitting fault. And moving on.


It is. To hope that I am not like my parents. To hold myself up to their light and measure myself against them…to make sure I am not like them. Its hard. But its not something I should have been surprised at all by. After all, weren’t they the ones who, when finding life too difficult, walked out? To realize that I put myself at her mercy and care, to will her to love me…

Over and over and over again.

Anger. Yes. At myself. For falling head first into this, all over again. And again. And again.

Frustration. For not being able to step out and leave it. For being JUST LIKE HER. And keeping myself in these situations, because I too, am afraid to do it…alone.

Disgusted. Sickened. At myself. Seeing how I compare. And that I am just like them. Walking in the foot paths they have left. Looking in the mirror…and wishing…so bad….that I didn’t resemble the two people I dislike. Wishing I didn’t see them staring at me. Wishing I didn’t hear them in my words. In my thoughts. See them in my decisions.

How can I be upset with her, when I am following behind her?

Shes watching me. Like shes watching herself. And enjoying every minute of it. And when I try to break free of the rut that shes built for herself…she gets mad. No wonder. Because she likes to watch me. Follow after her.

I try. So hard. So hard. So very hard. To give more than they did. To be more than they are. To step a level above, and be proud of it. But some days…some days…the mirror on the wall, the foot prints in the mud, the tone of my voice and actions of my deeds…are too much.

I want to escape. To be free. To be who I am without being who they are.

But no matter where I run, I will be there. No matter how far I go, I will follow. And where I go, they go. Where I run, they run.

I am not alone. Even though I desperately want to be sometimes.

Sometimes…I just cant run fast enough. And sometimes I run so fast, that I run into myself in a complete and utterly hopeless circle.

What was I thinking?


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