I’m having strange feelings arising as I near turning a year older. I have this strange feeling of an unfulfilled childhood. It’s like I missed out on throwing tantrums and rebelling. I missed on running, falling, and laughing from the fall. I missed out on asking for things I don’t need.
I’ve been so used to nodding and saying, “it’s fine” when something doesn’t go the way I want it to. As a kid, I didn’t point out for this and that and now, I’ve officially gone beyond turning point.
I admit, I’m afraid.
I’m more unsure about my life and how I want it to be than I was a year ago.
It reminds me of a childhood I can’t remember. I must have been an average child. I didn’t set off any alarms for the parents. I wasn’t perfect or extremely troubling. I was in all accounts the typical daughter. I could blame the story my mom liked to tell me. I could talk about the times when divorce was mentioned in conversations or when they laughed, oh poor June, she cried because we joked about divorce. Poor me, the girl that wasn’t a boy. Poor girl, her father wasn’t there for her birth. Poor third child, third daughter, she has so much to live up to. Poor me.
It still hurts a lot. I still find myself ugly. It’s a strange but normal world. It’s like I’m starting my recovery all over again. It wasn’t that I am a year older. I’ve felt different since October, since the one year of my recovery journey.
What have I been doing?
They say I need a plan. They say I should become completely independent. They say I need college. They say I’ll be okay.
They say many things.
I get to say nothing.
I’m writing a novel. It’s about me. It’s about my dreams. It’s about all the things no one lets me say. When I’m done talking, maybe I’ll have a plan. Maybe I’ll be completely independent and go to college.
I might even be okay.
For now, it’s a waiting game. I simply want to talk and be listened to. Are You Listening? This is Georgiana.