There is a piece of myself that I hide from myself and everyone around me. There is some sort of restlessness and anger or confusion or longing...I\'m not sure because I won\'t admit it. And I hide it pretty well, I guess. But every now and then it struggles to the surface until, like an alligator in a dirty lake, you can just barely see it as it hides in the reflection of light and trees off the water. It sits there, just waiting for the right prey to lure it out of the water. When you least expect it, something will come along and \"SNAP\" it jumps out of the water and consumes me in pain and sorrow and regret.
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And I don\'t really understand why. I don\'t know why I am so stubborn or why I am so sad. I don\'t understand why things that haven\'t bothered me much before are now so important and sharp.
A lot of it is hormonal, I\'m sure. I mean, I am on my \"time\" and I do get wacky then. But it isn\'t always around that time that it happens.
I have had the luxury of being so selfish these past several years. My husband has been finishing his degree and his jobless status mandated that he unselfishly provide emotional support as well as the household responsibilities. He takes care of everything. And now he\'s getting his degree and will be getting a job. He\'s stressing for the first time in years. I tease him that I will quit my job and eat bon-bons all day the minute he gets a job. He laughs nervously because he knows I\'ve been close to quitting before.
I am so scared. And to be as lucky as I am, I am such a whiner.
I gave my mom this website address. If she really wanted to, she could have found me. I didn\'t make it hard. And she could have read some of my stuff. And she could have sent me an email or some sort of encouragement. The only time she calls is to make me call my grandfather, who doesn\'t really like me anyways. Every now and then she calls in some sort of random attempt to be someone she isn\'t. Whine, whine, whine.
Anyway, so about this thing that lurks beneath the surface...
So the world, no, \"my world\", is changing. My perceptions are changing. My life seems inconsequential. My path is clear. I\'m becoming my mother. And I am certain that this means that I am going to die young of some sort of heart attack or terrible and freakishly embarrasing accident (like that disease you get from wearing tampons too long). I think this because I have achieved so much through a really short time, for reasons that have more to do with my parents than I care to admit. And so, having in just five years reached fiscal responsibilities that took my parents 30 years to reach, I must be the equivalent of 60 years old or older and so must die sooner than would otherwise be expected. That\'s part of the wackiness I\'m talking about here folks.
Right below the surface. I can feel it. It wants to come out. But every time I start to say or type the words, I can\'t continue and \"delete, delete, delete\" the first few letters are gone and all that\'s left is the emptiness and this lump in my chest and sting in my eyes that makes me want to scream and quietly sob all at once in a rush of anger and pure self-pity.
I can\'t even type about it anonymously on the Internet. I\'m a loon.
I don\'t know what pain and suffering are because I\'ve lived this middle-class pampered lifestyle of getting a car when I turned 16, a free ride to college via parental support, a high-paying (not six figures or anything, but more than I deserve) job at a big company, awards for doing nothing special at work, and a husband that loves me even though I\'m insane. So what do I have to bitch about? Huh? What?
Nothing. That\'s what.