(Or: At Home – Day One)
I feel more than ready to hit the world. I have ambition – good lord – which seems unreal. I’m very excited; I want to get on with Real Life (TM) and return to the actor/writer/teacher/singer I’ve been throughout my entire life thus far.
I love my mother. She and I are very similar creatures. I never liked it much when I was younger, but I’m actually very excited about spending time with (and developing) my life with my mother.
When I was little, I was a clone of my mother. In ever single way. Look, demeanour, manner.
In the last few years, I’ve turned far more into my dad. I’m delighted about this; I hope I’ve taken on my dad’s ability to mediate with my mother’s lethal argumentative streak.
As I’ve grown older, I hope I’ve become a mix of both. I love my parents, and I love the things I’ve stolen from them. My mother’s opinionated constancy, my dad’s stubborn-ness, my mum’s anger, my dad’s balance, my mum’s random optimism and my dad’s panic.
I love my family, and I love what they’ve made me.
I miss my sister. With every breath, and I do not over-exaggerate, I miss my sister. Every single day, every single day without fail I think about her and how she is, what she’s doing. I think about what I could have done differently, and how much I wish she would give me a chance. I miss her.
I hate my family, and I hate what they’ve made me.
My grandmother is fighting for her life against cancer, and she doesn’t want to fight any more, she’s tired. My mother does not know, and will not want to know. My father hates his parents, and I have no conscious memory of them. My sister loathes me, and I never understood why. My family is shattered beyond belief, and I would give anything to bring them together again.
But I’m not able to. I’m ill. I’m barely holding myself together. I can barely hold my own partner together, let alone myself, let alone a family of terrifyingly independent people who do not want anything to do with one another.
I don’t know.
I can’t fight this fight.
(god, I miss my sister.)