the home we built
How could it be that some of the worst parts of life are likely to be guarantees?
Worst parts? According to who?
I was reading an article on adulthood children enduring the divorce of their parents and then it hit me: change and death are inevitable. the longer you spend holding on to what is no longer true, the more your put yourself at a disservice.
My mother wasn’t happy. My father could not ever make her happy. Some ask me why it took 20 years of constant fighting, infidelity on both sides, and breaking up/getting back together just to come to the same conclusion. I say that they really wanted it to work and really did love each other, but when you’re not right for each other then there is nothing on this entire fucking planet that can fix that.
We’re only six months into this year and I feel like I have lost so much, that there are so many things I have have to begin. A bowl of sadness and nostalgia sit at the apex of my heart. I am lost for the little girl that yearns for a happy, stable home. I tell my cousin I’ll build a tent in her living room if it means I can continue to feel that I am no divorced myself.
I am staring at the Reese’s cups in the middle of the candy aisle. “I miss him,” I whine into the phone.
“You only miss him because of the comfort he gave you. You have to find that in yourself now.”
I put them in the basket anyway because fuck, chocolate and peanut butter are everything to me and together they are home.
Now I am 21 and no one is responsible for building a safe, secure home anymore but me. No one can cut me a big enough check. I have to write it myself. When you finally accept that your parents/you are both human and that you are obligated to love and hurt each other simultaneously, then life can really begin.
It was in the breaks of conversation after confronting my mother with infidelity that I begin to realize the only person I wanted to validate was myself and it was a waste of time. Why? Because I’ve seen myself love another person and I know I will never be capable of something like that. I also know I’ll never be 44 and unhappy in a marriage with three kids. I can’t be her and I can’t understand what drives anyone to do anything, but most especially hurt the people I care about. I would make the conscious decision to not have kids or marry a person who didn’t drive me mad or be in a relationship that drives me mad. Because I love love and loving but I don’t love love enough to drive myself mad anymore.
Love doesn’t drive anyone mad… that’s people, that’s relationships, that’s the lack of self-awareness and the ability to accept that some things aren’t meant to be.
Sometimes you hit a deer on the way home and there is a dent and some blood. You’re vegan so you want to die twice over. Fuck the government for encroaching on the wild, fuck me for killing a deer, just fuck everything because I can’t afford this shit.
But it’s over. It’s over. The deer is dead and so you deal. It’s over
I can’t tell you that I’m not upset, disappointed, hurt, and mad like hell but I know those feelings pass. I tell you that my life really started at 21 because everything fell apart and I had to work hard to rebuild what I thought was really important with all my blood, sweat, and tears.
I do miss your hands and your mom and your smile and your arms and your hugs and your kisses. I do miss my parents together and seeing my sister everyday. I miss those parts of my life but they are not true anymore nor should they ever be. We were not right. They were not right.
Hearing my brother’s laughter following the cheap jokes of my cousin billow out the cracks of her small home reminds me that happiness is entirely possible but it must be created. It must be created when circumstances change, when people stop loving each other, when nothing works, when everything falls apart… when shit I’ve run out of axes to grind and points to make
just be happy. try your best. please.
