To the unknown friends who put forth effort to share with a girl who wouldn’t let them see her: Thank you. It isn’t your fault that I didn’t want to see you. I appreciate the gesture, even if I couldn’t handle it.
Honestly, there are no words I can think of to describe the way I’m feeling for my fellow human beings (I say human beings, because men are not excluded from this narrative). The deep sadness and empathy running through my heart and mind has me distracted from my homework and other things I need to be doing. That’s why I’m pausing and writing this out.
Maybe that’s a self-absorbed way of thinking of things. Maybe I am an attention seeker and that’s just something I’ve got to deal with. Maybe I’m just one voice, crying out against billions of other voices, wanting to be heard by one person I don’t even know is out there listening.
If I ever learn anything while being at home, it’s that I love my parents even more every time I see them. Hugs from your parents (when your parents are as loving as mine) have some sort of healing powers. I’ve still had anxiety while here, but my depression has been gone.
Explaining how I feel about my mom is an interesting thing to do. It’s difficult to put into words, because I don’t know how to properly describe the woman who not only gave me life, but gave my life meaning and so much love.
This is the story of how someone I used to call Grandma became a very real monster in my own home. How she tried to drive wedges between my family members, pulled my uncles away from their sister, and actually succeeded in tearing down a part of me that I’ve only just now regained.