Doesn't Matter
So, it's recently come to my attention that, perhaps, no one other than me cares what I do. Or at least, that's what I was told by my boyfriend. I was worried what people would think of me if I did something. He said no one would care, that they assumed I was doing it anyways.
That's not when it really struck a chord though.
Today, as I was driving with my dad to school, an old friend was turning left and for a few moments, I got a glimpse of her and her life without me there to go to her and whine about my life or work on some story or another. That's when it hit me. It didn't matter that I hadn't seen her for half a year, she had lived her life and even got a shiny car. I liked her old one better. But my opinion didn't matter. I was out of her life, shut out by uncontrollable circumstances and the fact that we were within 10 feet of each other changed nothing. She may not have even seen or known it was me. After all, I changed too.
My parents are divorcing. My dad cut my mom and I off from the joint checking account, leaving us with her income for sustenance. He called me yesterday to tell me the papers had been served to him, then he put it on FaceBook. Today, we got in a huge fight about it on the way to school. I walked in the building crying, telling my boyfriend, who had pulled up to school at the same time, what had happened. Then, we sat in the lunchroom with everyone else and I decided to be fine. Because it didn't matter.
It doesn't matter if I'm pissed off, I have to be the straight-A student that has her stuff together. I have to keep a smile on my face so my friends don't think I'm an over-dramatic, mopey, no-fun person. I have to do all this stuff with my boyfriend so he can be happy and I can pretend things are normal and all is fine and good. Because, to be honest, my reality ceases to matter when I come in contact with the life that doesn't know of my fragile little reality filled with divorce and yelling and all this stupid pain.
What does that even mean anyways? Hurting emotionally? I get it, but at the same time, I hate my parents for the hurt they're living with and forcing on each other. They're like children. And I'm sick of it. I get into fights with my dad because him and my mom act immature and then I have to deal with it like their parent and then he complains about how it's all my mom's fault and then I have to point out to him that there's no point in complaining to me because I didn't do anything.
None of this is my fault, right? I'm the child of two people who just can't seem to do anything but hurt each other. Then why is it that I have to see them cry? Why do I have to walk on broken glass barefoot to make sure he's some what okay and not going to do anything stupid? Why do I have to calm her down so she's not in a full-blown panic? Why do they both get anxiety drugs and I get nothing to deal with the stress but a boyfriend who can't be around when I need him and siblings who are off at college, living their lives? Why me? Why now?
It's the same questions we all ask when we're hurting. Catholicism says there's a reason, that this will make me stronger; I just can't see it now. And that kills me. Because to everyone else, it doesn't matter.
My reality ceases to matter. I cease to matter.
It's a bitter pill.
-L
P.S. No, I'm not actually "doing it." We were talking about it though. :S
That's not when it really struck a chord though.
Today, as I was driving with my dad to school, an old friend was turning left and for a few moments, I got a glimpse of her and her life without me there to go to her and whine about my life or work on some story or another. That's when it hit me. It didn't matter that I hadn't seen her for half a year, she had lived her life and even got a shiny car. I liked her old one better. But my opinion didn't matter. I was out of her life, shut out by uncontrollable circumstances and the fact that we were within 10 feet of each other changed nothing. She may not have even seen or known it was me. After all, I changed too.
My parents are divorcing. My dad cut my mom and I off from the joint checking account, leaving us with her income for sustenance. He called me yesterday to tell me the papers had been served to him, then he put it on FaceBook. Today, we got in a huge fight about it on the way to school. I walked in the building crying, telling my boyfriend, who had pulled up to school at the same time, what had happened. Then, we sat in the lunchroom with everyone else and I decided to be fine. Because it didn't matter.
It doesn't matter if I'm pissed off, I have to be the straight-A student that has her stuff together. I have to keep a smile on my face so my friends don't think I'm an over-dramatic, mopey, no-fun person. I have to do all this stuff with my boyfriend so he can be happy and I can pretend things are normal and all is fine and good. Because, to be honest, my reality ceases to matter when I come in contact with the life that doesn't know of my fragile little reality filled with divorce and yelling and all this stupid pain.
What does that even mean anyways? Hurting emotionally? I get it, but at the same time, I hate my parents for the hurt they're living with and forcing on each other. They're like children. And I'm sick of it. I get into fights with my dad because him and my mom act immature and then I have to deal with it like their parent and then he complains about how it's all my mom's fault and then I have to point out to him that there's no point in complaining to me because I didn't do anything.
None of this is my fault, right? I'm the child of two people who just can't seem to do anything but hurt each other. Then why is it that I have to see them cry? Why do I have to walk on broken glass barefoot to make sure he's some what okay and not going to do anything stupid? Why do I have to calm her down so she's not in a full-blown panic? Why do they both get anxiety drugs and I get nothing to deal with the stress but a boyfriend who can't be around when I need him and siblings who are off at college, living their lives? Why me? Why now?
It's the same questions we all ask when we're hurting. Catholicism says there's a reason, that this will make me stronger; I just can't see it now. And that kills me. Because to everyone else, it doesn't matter.
My reality ceases to matter. I cease to matter.
It's a bitter pill.
-L
P.S. No, I'm not actually "doing it." We were talking about it though. :S