A lot of troubling thoughts are rambling in my brain lately. Whether I want to or not, my life is undergoing a transition. I have little control over it. There’s fear, mostly, and suspicion about the people I work with, the extraneous characters that still stand in the path I have to follow.
There’s a bittersweet taste in my mouth, joy over the happy things, but knowing they are fleeting, and that they can be taken too. There’s a humbling sense of unworthiness as well, feeling I got lucky somehow and someday the universe will figure out I got someone else’s good fortune and insist on an exchange.
I wake up in the night, strong, vivid nightmares shake me from solid sleep. I stare up in the darkness, no longer fearing that my child will awaken, but that I won’t be able to go back to sleep.
Life is what happens while you’re busy making plans. And, so I hesitate to put things in writing, worrying that it will make them undo themselves and tilt my hand to the universe that these are the things I really care about. If I attach myself to nothing, it can’t be taken from me.
I dream of my parents often. The estrangement weighs heavy on my mind lately. In spite of the abuse and dysfunction, they still do not accept it, my boundaries, my saturation with their nonsense, my need to walk away, to protect myself and my son. As time goes by, the rage fades, and only the facts remain, and perhaps they hope the walls crumble and it’s only a matter of time before they can get what they want.
Steadfastness is an endurance trial. At first, the rage sets the fire, and after the bridges burned, only the whispered “no” remains. And in those dark hours, watching the ceiling fan turn in the night, do I still question myself. Did I make the right choices? God, I can only hope so.