Shades of Green

Fork in the Path, Decision by Roiling Fire

I begin writing this on Monday morning, around 5:24am.
My 'day' started early Sunday evening at nearly 6pm, when
my father awoke me with idle threats to take a rake and
clear out my room if I didn't clean everything up. Not the
best way to start a day. True, my room is a mess, but that
is because I don't really live in it. My home, the house
I 'live' in, is more of a waypoint in my day to day
journeys. I leave my possessions there, so I feel little
care about its appearance. It's been this way since I came
back from Savannah; I try to avoid home as often as I can.
In fact, I can say that a good time less than half the
month of June was spent at 'home'.

That is how much I dislike my home.

Why do I hate home so much? Because of the animosity
that lies beneath. It is constant; some consider it bad
karma. It comes from my family: my mother, who lived such
a troubled life that she herself is now without hope, and
my father, a man inflicted with a disease, and now broken.
Both continue on, my mother for her children, and my father
for what is left of his pride. They live an unhappy life
together, a life that I am supposed to be a part of, but I
avoid as much as possible. I do not love my father, but I
do love my mother, in a way. In whatever psychosi she has,
she is without category, and because of what that entails,
I find it almost impossible to show her love now. One can
never win with her, because she can never be wrong. As for
my father, I feel no love between us. I am not his son,
and he has no children.

I made my mistake today when I chose to sit at the
dinner table with my father, to eat dinner. My mother was
gone, visiting somewhere in Canada, and wouldn't be
returning until later Monday. I knew what would happen,
should I stay, and as I expected, it did happen. Angry
berating came first, instead of what most people normally
expect, the "How was your day" and "Did you sleep well?".
The harsh words continued, advancing unto bitter exchanges
and heated accusations. It ended with him finishing his
meal, and myself leaving mine half-eaten, as I fled to my
room to weep.

Very little can actually cause me to shed tears, these
days. Very little can cause me to lose so much hope as to
feel that much pain well up in my chest. One was fearing I
had lost Her, She who I love so dearly. The other,
involves my family, because within it, is a hopeless so
bleak and cold that it bites deep into my heart. My family
is my guilt, the source of almost all of my self-loathing.
It is what I must leave, what I must break away from in
order to grow and advance in life, lest it sucks away all
that I am. When linked to my family, I am a horrible
child, an ingrate. Why? Because I no longer feel hope
within it. There is nothing I can fix, nothing I can
change for the better, without tremendous loss to who I
am. I will not bend for my family. I will not alter who I
am, or who I am to be, because of those who raised me. It
may sound selfish, but I have lived too long in that
suffocating environment; any longer, and I will die. My
family failed to teach me how to cope with any of the
problems I've so far encountered in the real world, and
should I stay, I will never learn to Live.

After a time, I called my friends. Still shivering
from the emotions, I asked one if I could move in, and she
agreed. More people were called, and more plans were
made. My decision was to move, and even though my feelings
changed somewhat later on, after the emotions boiled down,
I still believe it for the best. This occurance, the pain
and anger, was the catalyst to push me into motion. To
move, to learn, to escape for the better.

When I finally showed up at my friend's house, I would
not speak. I still feel uncomfortable, speaking to these
friends of such things. One held me, offering support,
while the other kept asking questions. I could not easily
respond to either, but even so, eventually I was able to
explain. But these were not the people that I truly wanted
to talk to, to seek warmth and comfort from. She was not
here, and I would not be able to speak to Her until later.
So instead, my friends took me along as they went to
Denny's, and after a quick call, my best friend met us
there.

We ate and spoke, and for a time, the pain was gone.
Ignored in wake of friendship and lightheartedness, I did
not worry about my decision. Instead, I made plans,
reinforced by my best friend's agreement to move to
Fullerton with me. And when we went back to my friend's
apartment, my new home for the time being, we continued to
talk and idly pass the time.

It wasn't long until I sought to speak with Her. She
was online, and at first, I did not want to tell Her about
my problems. I did not want to burden Her, because out of
everyone I know, She has the nicest life. Her mother loves
her, as does Her brother. They accept Her for who She is,
and what She is, unlike my own family. Sometimes, this
acknowledgement intimidates me, because I feel as if I make
Her life harder, because of who I am, and what issues I
carry with me. So I felt almost afraid to tell Her of my
problems, of the pain I felt. But, I found myself unable
to keep it back; when one loves another that much, one
can't help but share their pains.

I did not expect it to hurt that much at first.

It turns out that Her friends from her homestate, ones
that She had not spoken to for months, had caught Her
online. After I hinted at what I was feeling, at what I
wanted to talk about, She stated that She felt "torn".
That She wanted to talk to me, but also wanted to talk to
Her friends. This dilemma made me pause. I wanted Her to
be happy, for Her to talk to Her friends, but at the same
time, I was hurting terribly. And She was the one person I
wanted most to speak with, at that moment. So I felt
selfish, and horrible, for wanting to speak with Her, and
what felt like, to me, burdening Her with my problems.

And I felt insignificant.

In the emotions that sprang up, and the following
conversation, we both knew that what She said was a
mistake. We knew She didn't mean it to sound that way, and
I knew that She couldn't fully understand what I was
feeling. She felt selfish, just as I did, and to make
matters worse, I had to leave. My friend soon needed the
phone line, so we parted, with the intentions that She
would call after an hour, when my friend was done with the
line. I felt tension during that hour, tension and
unrest. I did not realize until then, how much the day's
decision had worn on me, and I felt almost physically ill.

I jumped when She called. I spoke hesitantly at first,
still feeling wounded from the earlier conversation, but
soon, apologies were exchanged. We finally spoke, and I
was able to release the pain I was feeling, and have it
replaced by something warmer. As we both expected, She had
little advice to offer, beyond what I already knew; with
her life, She had little experience to draw upon to relate
to such problems, but Her presence, even if only vocal, was
all it took to make me feel better. Eventually, our
conversations shifted to something lighter, and the mood
was changed for the rest of the night. When the phone was
finally resting again upon its crook, I could still feel
the lingering effect of Her words, and I felt... better.

I stayed awake for some time after the call, even
though I should I slept. I feel restless, because
tomorrow, or within the next two hours, I will be starting
a new day, with all my plans to change my life.

I never get a good night's sleep before a big event...

Dawn has already passed, and the kiss of the sun is now
edging in through the window blinds. I leave now, to take
a nap, before the alarm calls and I must wake again.

I love you, my Tenshi.