Mom died in December. I spent my whole life doing all I could to hear her say, "great job, Al," and when she died, there was no one left in the world to be proud of me or lift me up.
Okay, I'm a narcissist, and all this blog has been is a bunch of melodramatic bullshit. If she had done a good job, she would have raised a daughter who didn't need pats on the back. She would have raised a daughter who didn't need someone to call after a hard day at work.
Yes, my friends don't call me. But I understand. Our lives have changed. I don't live for myself anymore. I don't choose the time I want to sleep in until. I don't get dressed, or eat until Phin has a dry diaper, and has eaten. I don't do the things that I would like to do. The only things I do are for him, to enrich his life. He cries when he's tired, when he's hungry, when he's bored, and I respond. I've found myself humming nursery rhymes when he's not listening. My life is not my own. That's not a complaint, rather a statement, and the reason my friends don't call.
But seriously, this has been the hardest 5 months of my life, and one of the loneliest. I can't reach out because I don't want to sound sorry for myself. I'm watching my friends on their commencement day with their lives spread out in front of them, while I stagnate in this tiny apartment wishing that someone had told me on my big day that it was over.
Life is really hard, and it's not getting easier. When Mom was alive, I used to believe that I had an escape. I had a home to go back to if everything fell apart. She took my options with her that December night. I'm not even 23, I still need a mother. I'm not beautiful anymore. I've lost my vibrancy. I just respond to cries, run the baby around, and put in 2 hours a day at a job where I'm not respected. I don't know what I want to do with my life. I'm lost, I don't know where I belong, and no one responds to my cries, let alone hear them.
