Lately I've been waking up disoriented, thinking I'm at the house where I grew up. I blurrily look around, thinking there will be stairs to climb down. The sound of the kitchen surprises me. It's supposed to be downstairs. But no, it's there, just outside of my room. There are no stairs, just a ladder leading down from my loft bed. Just beyond my door is the kitchen, and the rattling dishes. It takes me a moment to realize that I'm 29, not 13, my mom is dead, my sister married and with children, and my dad and brother are almost entirely absent.
I get confused.
I have been crying at night and wishing for something better.
No matter what people want to believe or the things they try to say, I have never been particularly strong. Not in the way that I have needed. I've never been certain of anything for very long. I've rarely fully trusted anyone. I don't think I've ever trusted myself.