One day, I'll get out of here.
One day, I'll have a life of my own.
One day, I'll have a life with Ian.
My mom and I are arguing yet again...not so much arguing as it is me crying, sobbing and pleading with her, begging her to talk to a therapist or even go to a family counselor with me.
My mom is depressed.
She's been depressed ever since my dad died more than three years ago.
She won't talk to anyone and constantly says, "there's nothing wrong with me."
And I always reply, "not everyone who talks to a therapist has to have something wrong with them."
She won't get help. She doesn't want help. Not even from me. She doesn't care about me and has made that very clear when I asked her to go and talk to someone, for my sake and she wouldn't budge.
Right now, all she's thinking about is herself. She doesn't think about all of my aunts and uncles who care about her, she doesn't think about all of my cousins who worry about her and most of all, she doesn't think about the fact that I am still here. I'm still alive. I still have a beating heart. My dad may be gone but I am still in this house and I am still living my life.
My mother has not always made the best choices in bringing me up, she's made plenty of mistakes and I'll admit that I have definitely said too much when I shouldn't have said anything at all but I don't think that this is the life that God had planned for me. I'm not a real religious person but in recent days, I have been praying or talking to my dad, asking him to help me get through this difficult time. It's funny, I used to get a sense of clarity after asking him for help and now things just get worse. He's not listening anymore.
I'm thinking about what my life will be like in 10 or 15 years. I'm thinking about living in a big apartment or even a house with Ian and just...being with him and having our own lives together. A place where we can paint the walls, have furniture, sit at the kitchen table while he goes online and reads his latest gamer news (eh...) and I read the newspaper (if they're still around). Eventually kids will come into the picture. And they'll run around the house, they'll probably drive me nuts, but they'll be my kids and no one will be there to hold me back or tell me how to raise them and I know that I will NOT treat them the way my mother has treated me. If I ever have children, they'll grow up in a house filled with love and honesty. They'll be brought up with strong morals and I'll always let them know that making mistakes is a big part of life, as long as they learn from them. I won't place blame on them when they get lower grades the way my mother and grandmother did...when I was nine years old. They'll play outside and I'll plant flowers. They'll help me do the laundry and they won't be embarrassed of Ian and I until they're around that weird 15-17 year old phase.
And my mother will not be around to throw anything in my face, to hurt me, to hurt my family or to hold any of us back.
This is what's keeping me going.
I have better things to do than cry over her. Where does it get me? After 23 years of fighting and pain, where has it gotten me? Nowhere.
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