Does it ever get easier? That’s what I’d like to know. Will a ever a day come when I’ll feel comfortable about not knowing her? I want to know that someday it won’t be as challenging, as terrible, as vulnerable. I need assurance that someday I will feel alright instead of what I feel now: weak.
I can’t control anything that is happening around me. I can’t control what she does or what happens to me. It all whips around me, out of my reach, like a sheet of paper in gale-force winds. I can see it happening, but actually altering it is impossible. I wasn’t able to comprehend what wa happening thirteen years ago when everything went down or I would have provided my input or made some sort of effort to conduct what was going on in my own way. But, like that sheet of paper, it was all untouchable.
I put on this front, like somehow I’m okay with all this. I act like it doesn’t bother me. It fools some people some of the time. Only the people who look past my smiles and reassurances know what I’m feeling, and so do those who are present for my occasional paroxysms. All this anger is stored up in me and I tried to get it all out last year, but sometimes certain resentments become existent, and there’s nothing I can do about that sometimes.
I need to know that it’s possible that a motherless life is livable. I’ve gotten along fine to this point, but I feel like I’m about to crack.