Although seven thirty had me ready for bed, as I lie awake staring up at the ceiling I couldn’t help but wonder what I’m not thinking about. It’s so easy for me to be in survival mode. All the complicated webs of family and friendship and social bullshit fade away to a low hum, and my head finally sits right on my shoulders because all I have room for is making money and spending money. The stress doesn’t even feel like stress. For the first time since I’ve been here I feel like myself, let out of the cage, free. I was a fool to think that blood means family. You can’t make people love you, and even if they do it doesn’t mean they know how. I sure as hell didn’t. Now I’m alone and everything feels quiet and peaceful. When will I learn that most times in my life I function best as a solitary creature.
Of course December has felt colder than usual, and I am not so young or naive that I don’t understand how I got here. And I do know that I had a large part to play on this road. I still cannot regret my decisions, nor expect pity, nor understanding. I cannot allow myself even to care that people disagree, or even hate me now. Everyone has their choices in life, as I have had mine. And yet there was so much they could not see because they never stood as I did along the river, with my toes in the sand and my shoes and socks shelved safely upon the rocks. They could not understand that those moments after a long bike ride and a week of shitty tables, and even worse tips, petals of smoke swirling around us like faeries of conversation. That we finally felt free in that moment. That they couldn’t take the Earth away from us. Not without a fight, and when our breath caught and the words finally came, what we finally felt was peace. But how could I explain that? Why would I justify it? Just finding the words would take away the sacred nature of the moment, and still they couldn’t understand. How to explain a sunrise to someone living in the dark? It’s impossible.
I have never put much emphasis on what has already passed, and this is no different. I am who I am, I choose what I choose, I do what I think is right. That’s the kind of person I was raised to be, but to hell with anyone that puts value claims on my life. Especially to someone that has been absent for over ninety percent of it. Fuck it. They don’t need me, so why should I cry? It’s no news to me that this family has never had problems being away from myself or my sister. We are nothing but nice ideas to him. He has set his mind to an easy peace with our absence. So all in all. Fuck it. I will always be a survivor. Not even the rescinding of his love can take that away from me. I have always chosen life and happiness. I don’t care if it’s not your idea of moral, or good, or even productive. It’s those little things in my life that he belittled that have made me happy to be alive. He will not take my peace.