I don’t need to understand how she exists, or why. My sister is with me at all times, but her presence is somehow more pronounced when I need her the most.
Strange things make you shudder. The sound of a beer tab being opened. The sound of ice clunking into a cup. The smell of that one particular brand of alcohol, the one that’s always stocked in the freezer or hidden in your cabinets.
You are back home, but that doesn’t mean that you are the same person as when you left. So you may as well take it as a chance to create a new beginning.
“When I was 8, my dad tried to kill me, my mom and sister. A month later, my dad would go on to commit suicide.”
Maybe this is how things get better.
What would I tell her, that little tow-headed kid in sixth, seventh, eighth grade? The one who took the walk down the hill from the school bus to cry so her mom wouldn’t see?
I need more for myself. I know that if I’m going to grow into the person I want to be, then I have to leave. There’s no way around it.
We still get mad when things don’t go our way, we still don’t like hearing the word ‘no’ or getting rejected, we still hate it when we want someone who does not want us back and we still hate feeling ignored or neglected. We still don’t know how to deal with abandonment.
I assumed that magically when I turned twenty my taste buds would radically change and all of a sudden salad and broccoli would start to taste like snickers.
Why are we so terrified of talking to our kids about sexual orientation? Are we scared to shatter their innocence?