Sarcasm is A bitch

Once upon a time there was a girl named Olive. She lived in her perfect little world where everything was amazing. She was surrounded by butterflies and unicorns. Money grew on trees. Her family and friends all adored her and appreciated all her many great qualities and talents. She was happy and healthy. Life was fabulous. She just emanated joy. She had a future. And lived every moment of her present.
The end.

passive nothing

Dear A

It’s very hard for me to write this letter. To verbalize what it is I am feeling. But I feel that if I don’t get it out, I might burst. I just don’t understand why you act different toward me. Do you even notice? Do you feel the difference? Do you even notice that you are avoiding me? That you are distant. Not around. Is it because of something I did? I just don’t get it. Don’t you want to have a relationship with me? Why shut me out? Do you feel happy? Coming home late and avoiding me? Making Shabbos plans and not even including me? When is the last time you called me? Texted me? Do you even notice? Do you know that sometimes I feel like an orphan? All alone. No parents to turn to. That if something happened to me, they wouldn’t even know. No relationship with any family. My siblings only call me when they need something. And when I call them, they don’t have much to say. Why have I always been there for you and for them and I can’t seem to get the same in return. What happened to the backgammon games? Eating supper together? Shabbos meals? The walks? The guitar lessons? We need each other. We have always been there for each other. To bounce ideas on. Our days. I don’t understand what happened? Are you mad at me? Do you feel happy in the way that things are? Because I don’t. I have made effort a few times and you have pushed me away. You are not approachable. You talk to everyone but me. And I am not ok with that. If there’s something you want to say, then say it. This passive behavior is not getting us anywhere. So here is me stepping out of myself. Reaching out to make a change. I hope you take this letter to heart and make a change.

You know where to find me.

Your daughter,

R

Rant

Seriously. That's what you are going to say.You do not want me to respond. Because it won't be pretty. I won't be that quiet soul you think you met. Maybe you should grow a pair. Of balls that is. Because you don't know me. No one puts me in a corner. Or defines me. I don't fit into a neat little box. I am limitless. And you do not call the shots. Maybe you should look inward instead of pointing fingers. Did you ever think that it might be you that's the problem. Maybe you should look at your pattern. And get a clue. Don't you dare make assumptions about me. Or label me. I am not yours to comment about. Open your eyes. Or smell the coffee. Whatever. You are not worth my time.

Ignorance is Beautiful

It seems that I will always be dependable. Reliable. I will always live to serve. My role as an individual is almost unnecessary. The me that hides beneath is mute. Silent. I go through the motions. And sometimes I actually do care. But it's mostly a facade. A distraction. From the truth. From reality. From myself. Your lives and dramas are so much easier to deal with. No emotion required. No self-reflection or motivation needed. Inspiration flown out the window ages ago. Ignorance is a welcomed drug. A wonderful pill to swallow. Unlike the horse-pill that lies around the corner. Waiting to close up my throat. Suffocate my lungs. Empty any stomach-juices left in my body. Leaning over a toilet or any available garbage can.

Ignorance is a beautiful thing. It prevents from mourning a loved one. Erases the pain of seeing the dead. Watching as dirt is dug and one plain box is lowered into the earth. Numb as a life is forever gone. The end. Unconditional love has slipped through your finger tips. Never to exist again. Any possible heartache gone. Holding a mother who cannot stop crying and does not know why. I am not a daughter. I am a mother. A caretaker. A mother to no one. I am not a wife. But somehow I got sucked into that role. Because I live to serve. I sacrificed myself. I was afraid to soar. To fly. I could not let go. I could not feel. I pushed it all under the carpet. I lost me. I have disappeared. And for what. What do I have to show for any of it. Nothing. Nothing.

Question Mark

I read through old blog posts and I wonder if I've changed. Am I still the same bitter, angry person. Am I that lonely girl. Am I still drowning in the past. Unable to move forward. Have I accomplished anything.

This is the longest I have gone without physical affection since I was 17. Almost two whole touch free years. Choosing to keep my distance. For what purpose. A protection? A wall built up. Once again. And where has that gotten me. 

Have I purified myself. Become holier than thou. Made better decisions. Have I become happier. More content. Or just suffered in my loneliness. Adjusted to my pain. Accepted my reality. Who have I become.