The thing about caring about people is once you start, it's really hard to stop. For as long as I can remember, caring about people too much has been the one thing I just can't stand about myself. It's always all or nothing. There's never a middle ground. When I'm in, I'm all in. Don't get me wrong, it isn't all bad. I've become an expert around people who need caring for. And it's awesome because it just comes natural. But in all other cases, caring too much is just a big giant mouse trap for having your feelings crushed. For once in my life I want to just not give a fuck. I want to be able to live without heavy burdens and sensitivity weighing down on my shoulders. I want to not care about what other people think or feel for just one day. I would say that I'm going to take strides toward lessening my load of caring which seems like the most proactive thing to do, but I've tried to do this more times than I could count. Once it's there, it's there for good.

The Unsinkable

I've been realizing more and more lately that no matter how much you grow up, your desire to be around the people you love never leaves you. As you branch out you begin to value more and more the people and things in your life that are constants, the ones that are always there no matter what. And the more people that enter your life, the more you realize how important your roots are. My high school years were spent fighting with my family and desperately trying to fit in with friends. I promised myself on several occasions I would never go back to that house or those people once I left. Looking back I realize how stupid those thoughts were. My family is my dock now days and all other things in my life are just floating ships, sinkable floating ships, some more sinkable than others. And when I'm sinking, I know to go to the one and only place with the only people that will never fail to be there, holding me above the water. The unsinkable.

Normal

I've always held true the notion that children are a product of their parents. In some cases it's more apparent than others but on the whole the way we are socialized from a very young age determines how we view the world around us as adults, with many other factors playing important roles as well of course. As a kid, I knew what a functional household looked, sounded, and felt like. From a young age, I knew what love was. And from spending so much time at my best friend's house, I knew what love wasn't. It's scary to compare my household from to now. Were we the only things holding my parent's relationship together? How did an environment filled with such love and joy disintegrate to this? The hardest part is every time I go home, I expect things to be like they used to be. I expect everyone to be their normal selves. I have such a tight grasp on this concept of "normal" and the idea of returning back to it. But what if what things are like now is the normal? I mean, how long have I been oblivious the transformation to such hostility and bitterness? Or, how long have they been sheltering it from me? It's absolutely tragic to me- the way my mom lives day in and day out, her frustration and anxiousness and depression. It's a thought that passes my mind more often than any other thought. Sometimes in anger, sometimes sadness, but mostly fear. I share my mom's same caring and selfless characteristics. I never want to be trapped the way that she is. I don't want to dread the next day. I don't want to die with someone and still feel completely alone, and empty and unappreciated. If anyone were to ever ask, I would say yes, I did grow up in a functional loving household. I would say I know what love and marriage is supposed to be and how a family is supposed to work. And I wouldn't be lying. I would, however be lying if I told them that was still the case. Because what I come home to now days is far from "normal".