I know, all along, I know that the one thing I want most, is an emotion. I want love. I want a family sort of love.
A woman with slender arms boarded the bus and I couldn’t help but gaze at her limbs. A middle-aged woman came up after her and a man took the seat beside her, as I realised they are a couple. I could no longer look at the slender woman. I had to look at the married couple. I know I crave love – the ease, the comfort, the solidarity, the companionship. And I always wonder if it is normal that I am forever seeking an end to this search for completion, even when I think I am not. I always wonder if I should be angry at how I grew up.
I miss my mother. I am wrecked with guilt. What a selfish disease this is, they always write, and again I am uselessly compelled to say, indeed. It is so selfish I hardly voluntarily think of how much I’ve changed with regards to my parents, even though I always occasionally feel sorry towards my friends. I couldn’t let myself go that far, to dwell on the ones who matter the most to me, because of how impossible it is to recover from the grief and guilt. It was a long, hard, choking cry tonight, that began from when I search through my mother’s phone for a picture I can use for a portrait homework. I miss my mother so much. I miss my parents. I’m sorry for putting you through this.
Again, I wish to drop everything. Quit school. Quit everything. I never had this urge before recovery because school and everything else that demanded my energy was a distraction from food and the depression it brought me. Now I often want to just quit everything. Nothing seem sot matter enough and I can’t see the point. But of course I won’t.
I wondered if I should hate N but I don’t. How many times did we meet? But twice, I think, after it began. Did you do the right thing and cut yourself off from me? Eventually, you did. Therefore I am unable to muster any blame although I do still wonder quite often, if I should. Without blame, I can’t possibly conjure an ounce of hate, not that I wish to. But I wondered, N, though I didn’t know what to wonder about. But N, I’ve never been one to spend the effort thinking about ‘ifs’ yet once again, I had to wonder what if. What if, what? I didn’t know. What if I never knew you the way I got to? I don’t know which part to wonder about. N. N. N…