A friend of mine reminded me of this place a few nights ago and I realized that I haven't been writing for a very long time now. I stopped writing because I just didn't want to keep being so negative all the time. But honestly, I feel like 21 year old me will appreciate how far she's gone from the current 18 year old me.
Honestly, it's been 2 years and 11 days since we've moved here. While I feel like I'm in a better place than I was on the day I moved here and the days after that of loneliness and emptiness, I won't say that I'm in the best place of my life either. I'm not okay. I'm constantly not okay because everybody is moving on and everyone that I once knew is somebody different now. I too, am different. I'm afraid of change. I'm afraid of growing up and I'm afraid of saying it out loud because it's going to mean that I'm acknowledging them.
I'm upset that I'm constantly needing people more than they'll need me. I'm so frustrated because this whole move is not what people said it would be. I'm devastated that while I anticipated everything that accompanied me with this trip, I did not anticipate the loneliness that would come with it. Honestly, I did not see it coming. Like an idiot, I did not expect it, I did not prepare for it and it came hitting me like a big yellow school bus. I'm not one to have a lot of friends but even then, I did not expect the ones that I had to fall apart. I did not expect the people who held my world together be the people who only watched and spoke from far away as my world slowly crumbled at my feet. And the hardest part is that it's not their fault.
The hardest part of any situation is when there's nobody to blame. I'm constantly breaking apart on the inside and lying because I don't know what to do about it. People say that time fixes things. You don't heal from it, time doesn't help. I'd say time makes it worse. Time is just a record of exactly how long it's been since I got yanked out of home. Time just keeps an accurate number of how many days and nights I've spent yearning for a "better life" that everybody claimed that I would get. Time doesn't heal. Time doesn't make it better. Time makes it worse. Time makes it unbearable. Time makes it real.
It's been two years. It's been two years since I've been utterly lonely. It's been two years since everybody has moved on but me. It's been two excruciatingly painful years because it's not what everyone assured me that it would be. This is not an adventure. This is excruciating pain. This is a big huge gaping wound that's still expanding its perimeters to make sure that one day, all that's left is a shell of the person that I used to be. I can't do this.
So if you ask me how my 2 years has been here in the US, I'd say that I wouldn't wish loneliness on anybody. There are good days and there are bad days. While some days feel better than others, there's still an underlying shadow that follows me around reminding me of my circumstances. Loneliness is not enough of a big thing to warrant a complain because I can still function like a normal human being. I'm also afraid to feel happy sometimes because it feels like it's going to be yanked away again and I can't bear this kind of emptiness again.
So if you ask me how my 2 years has been here in the US, I'd say that I wouldn't wish loneliness on anybody. There are good days and there are bad days. While some days feel better than others, there's still an underlying shadow that follows me around reminding me of my circumstances. Loneliness is not enough of a big thing to warrant a complain because I can still function like a normal human being. I'm also afraid to feel happy sometimes because it feels like it's going to be yanked away again and I can't bear this kind of emptiness again.
