It feels as if I haven’t been away at all. I’ve been home all this time without leaving my room.
Every minute Mother would come in and ask me stuff. Then, Father would come in and ask me other stuff. I decided to print out Stephen King’s quote and stuck it on the wall in front of me. When trying to clear my head and control my anger outbreaks, I would stare at those words and remember the promise I made to myself.
I guess people still don’t know that I don’t like discussions. I rarely discuss anything unless I truly share a passion for it. All I want is to hear STORIES! YOUR STORIES! Nothing else matters.
Who cares? Why am I bringing this up again?
Now I understand why an ex-friend of mine said that writing is just a soliloquy. I’m not better than a bum talking to a pigeon.
It seems that the only person in this family who cares about this family’s stability is my mother, nobody but my mother. Everyone else (that includes me) is indifferent which breaks her heart.
I haven’t got much to share with realists. She will be the one to keep the family together, and I love her for it, even though I know she’ll resent all of us for giving no shit. I don’t know how my dad or sister feels here, but I hate myself for being a terrible daughter. It doesn’t change the fact that we all communicate badly with one another.
I think of my goal number two – something that I think about every single day. Actually, it should be goal number one, BUT things need to be done in order, especially goal one and two. Goal number two can only be achieved once goal number one has been achieved. If you remember the goals, then you’ll understand why I’m under pressure. Yet I lack clear-headedness and motivation. It kills me every day, even on holidays.
I need more time, space and room to breathe. I need my I.R. to help me work hard.
I work for no one except my family and myself. You may not judge how I am with my family. I know what I’m like, but now that you know how I feel – please don’t judge.
I know people talk about short attention spans. Is there anything like a short patience span? Impatience sounds too childish. I’ve been impatient all my life, similar to the white rabbit in Lewis Carroll’s famous tale. Every day seems to end within the hour, and I know damn well how unhealthy this way of thinking is. But I can’t help it.
I want my parents to have more years of happiness ahead of them, instead of years of struggle and desperation. That’s why I need to get going.
Life writing isn’t getting me anywhere right now. I need to start working with I.R., my muse (King’s muse is male, and so is mine.), my inspiration, my other half. Something needs to change rapidly before I collapse.
Staring at King’s quote breaks my heart because I’ve not followed his rule today. There are distractions in each corner, distractions that need attention; otherwise, I would have a harder time to get by.
As I said, short patience span.