I have puffy pillows around my eyes.
Last night, I decided that the best thing for me to do was to take my box of tissue, go to the front room, and curl up on the couch with my head on my Mom’s lap and cry.
It was a good decision.
It was my only decision.
I had been curled up next to the cold metal bars of my bed and sobbing silently, and that wasn’t helping much.
So, twenty-three and a half year old me, sobbed in my Mom’s arms like a two year old.
Because, twenty-three and a half year old me, can’t handle decisions.
I can’t handle not being happy.
I can’t handle it.
I can’t handle everything.
School and volunteering and babysitting and physical therapy and music and pain and being unemployed.
My mom stroked my hair and told me that it was okay that I couldn’t do everything, and that it wasn’t selfish, even when twenty minutes before I was talking about how I didn’t want to do anything and she said it sounded kind of selfish.
Teardrops and tissue boxes and a woman becoming a child in her Momma’s arms changes things.
Who am I that I still get to run to my Mom’s arms and cry?
What kind of adult am I?
What kind of child?
What kind of cushy life do I live?
I don’t know.
How weak am I that I need my Mom?
I don’t know.
I’m very weak.
I’m very weak and my Mom said she would take all my problems if she could, but we all have our own problems that we have to deal with.
She doesn’t have to go to grad school, but I don’t have a twenty-three year old daughter crying in my arms in the middle of the night. I wouldn’t know what to do…
I have to figure out my life.
If it was just grad school, maybe it’d be easier, but it’s not.
It’s figuring out that the things that make me happy aren’t the things I get to do for the rest of my life.
It’s figuring out that just because I suffered, it doesn’t mean I get to give up.
It means that I have to figure out what I can do and what I can’t do, and how to live my life without crying every night, and how to actually be happy.
I miss being happy.
I like being happy.
I want substantial happiness.
It’s my one year word press anniversary for my blog about “being independent, while being entirely not”, I think I keep proving that I’m entirely not…
I’m working on it. Working. Working.
Thank you for reading.
Later, dear readers.