The world seemed like a strange place to me. Taking the time to remove my “rose colored” glasses to see the world as it really is has been an experience to say the least. The world, I have come to find out, is not as depressing as I once thought it was. Ya, bad shit happens, most often to the best of people, but not one is exempt from the hard times.
Since I was 10 I had always seen life as nothing more than a cruel joke that the “higher powers” had decided to play on humanity. How could you blame me? I was 10 and realizing for the first time that my perfect world wasn’t so perfect. I was being thrown into a reality where my parents fought all the time, where my mother drank to cope with her life that she never seemed to be happy with. I was pushed into this reality where I was nothing more than something to be fought over. Don’t get me wrong, I have two loving parents, but that fact of the matter was that they may love me but they certainly don’t seem to love each other anymore.
To me everything from that point on was unfair. Mom and dad’s fighting was unfair. Mom’s drinking was unfair. My sister’s going off to college and while I had to stay here and care for my mother was unfair. The whole fucking world was against me and I was perfectly content with sitting in the corner, and sulking about it. I found the best reasons in the world to blame everyone but myself for the way I felt. I was depressed because my mom’s drinking, and my parents constant arguing made living at home unbearable. I was contemplating suicide because my mom was being stupid. She was the best excuse really. No one could blame me for being depressed with a mother like that, or having that kind of tension at home. I blamed my mother and the world for my problems because it was easy. It was easier than dealing with the bullshit on my own. If I acted like it didn’t happen, then it wasn’t real.
But I was only fooling myself. Every moment was real, and I have come to the point where I can no longer avoid that simple truth. My mother has become my greatest test of love, faith, and compassion. She is an everyday project. She is my reason for wanting to be better, my motivation. She is what I never want to become in this life. Seeing her pick herself up and being living again would bring nothing but joy to my life, and hope that she is as strong as I know she is. She has inspired my motivation for life, and living it. Her mistakes, her failures have shown me that this is the future, my future, and I’m the one in control. I am in charge of my own destiny. I am the maker of my dreams, and the final say in how I want things to end. No more intimidated little girl who wants to sit in the corner and pretend things aren’t happening. I am the writer of my own story, and it’s time I stopped giving the pen to someone else. It about time I grew some balls and started living for me. Fuck what everyone else thinks!!
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