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I'm Sixteen Again
12 June 2003 @ 12:59 p.m.
I am not doing well. In fact, I continue to watch myself go farther, deeper into this awful place inside of me. I feel myself losing ground, falling back into the person I was when I was 16 or 17. A scared, lonley, horribly depressed little girl.
Part of me blames this house. I should have known better than to think that I could survive sleeping in this place. Especially since I'm sleeping in a room with no exterior windows. It's dark and small and a hideous teal color. I could feasibly move back into the room that was once mine, but Sis redecorated it to an even more hideous teal color and moved everything. The rooms are too small, too few windows. My plants are being affected as well. The only one of all of them that is surviving well is the False Arilia, and that's just because I've been nursing it so much after the move.
I'm ready to go home. It's the phrase that is ever repeated in my head. Yet I don't have a place called home anymore. I left it to get better. I can't seem to convince myself that I can't go home. That this is the best I have.
These are the feelings I have around early August when I'm at camp. When I realize that I need some serious alone time because I'm burning out.
It's June. And I'm not in an environment where I must share everything with at least thirty others. This is a bad sign for the upcoming season. A sign for something I know I won't be able to handle.
The Mother gave me the speech today how she doesn't want me to shut her out of my life the way I did in High school. She wants to have an open trusting relationship with me, especially since I'm living here. How can I tell her that she hasn't earned my trust back? I still don't trust her after what happened back around the time of the surgery. I know that all I ever get from her is tears and frustration, even when I tell her the things she thinks she wants to hear. We've never been close. Never. And she wants to try it now, when I'm at my mental lowest.
She's been accusing me of being lazy and passive during my job search. That I'm not doing enough so I must not want to work.
I feel like I'm sixteen again with no where to run. I've been here before and I ran to the Upper Penninsula for a reason as soon as I turned 18. But now I have no where to go, no money to get there anyway. I have no job to help me to escape. Only a station wagon with half a tank of gas.
currently reading: -
currently listening: Ani Mix CD
