I got back from being in Montreal for two weeks on Saturday. As usual, coming back was extremely difficult. What was different this time was that the actual leaving wasn't so hard. Usually I just don't want to leave Montreal... the culture, the place, and most of all teh life I have there. Now... that part isn't so bad. I know it's not my home. What I realized today is that what I can't stand about being home is the lack of freedom.
This time, my trip to Montreal wasn't as a drugged out kid looking to party. It was a time to see people that I know and love, and instead of participating in their life for two weeks, I brought them a piece of my life. I had to take responsibility for someone else as well as myself, and I had to organize my life: my time, my attention, my money... I was responsible for both the material things and the spiritual things. In a way, this was the first time I went to Montreal as an adult, with another adult.
But suddenly I'm back here. And I'm a kid again. Not only am I a kid, but I'm a city kid in the middle of the country. In Montreal, I had to plan out our time. Not all with fun activities; 'business' and non-leisure activities were included. Bottom line though, was that I was always doing something. At the end of the day, I looked forward to going home and just chilling with the people I love. Which included my boyfriend.
An important thing that I realized on the trip is that I truly love my boyfriend. Not just in the romantic, sappy way... but also in the everyday comforts, the little fights and discussions. Sharing a life, not just part of a life. And I spent two weeks sharing my life with Kellin. No, we weren't joined at the hip, but at the end of the day we always ended up home with each other.
I expected it to be weird when we got back and went back to separate existences. I didn't expect it to actually hurt. I found out just how much it hurts when my cynical mother told that no, I couldn't stay at his place. "No, you've been away enough already." Nice words, if my presence had actually been missed more. Let's face it, I didn't spend all that much time at home before I left, and since I got back my family hasn't exactly been jumping to spend time with me. It's actually like I never left at all. What's more, we don't do anything at my house. Yes, we smoke and talk and laugh. We watch movies and a TV series or two. But just lying around gets old fast, especially when you're used to moving around, seeing people and doing things. That's why I like taking public transportation. It's not just getting in a car and sitting around til you get somewhere, and then leaving and sitting around some more until you get somewhere else. It's dynamic. You have to pay attention and walk and change directions.
Maybe it'll be different when I'm the one driving, but until then... I just can't stand doing nothing. And especially not huge chunks of time spent going to work, and then coming home and doing nothing until I pass out early, and then going to work again the next morning, and so on and so on. Before I went to Montreal, I was tired all the time, so much so that it worried my mother. She thinks it's because of working in the cafeteria and having no mental stimulation. That's not true... I went to school for many years with very little mental stimulation, without that effect. And I also realized that when I went over to Kellin's, or stayed out late doing things, I rarely got tired. The entire time I was in Montreal, I'd go to bed at midnight, easy. Sure, I get tired during all of these things, but not the bone-deep weariness that just won't let me stay awake any longer.
After my mother delivered her demand for me to come home, I got angry. I get irritated often, but it's been a very long time since I was truly angry, the kind of angry that washes out everything else and turns the world red. A kind of impotent rage, that makes you want to strike out at everything, especially the unfairness that caused the anger. Why was I so mad? Because, for one, she had that slightly petulant tone that told me that she was saying no just for the sake of saying no. She told me that there was shit for me to do at home. Sure, fair enough. But whenever she uses that excuse, often when I ask her exactly what, she either avoids replying or tells me some variant of either pulling my weight around the house or getting my shit together. Tonight, it was getting my shit together. Again, fair enough. The only problem is, whenever I do come home, expecting to be put to work--a prospect which, incidentally, is a an absolutely marvelous motivator for going home--I end up doing... guess what? Nothing! Sitting around, reading or watching a movie/TV, and passing out around 10 or 10 30 when I can't keep my eyes open anymore.
I think that my body gets into that roundabout, bored mode, it assumes it's downtime and time to rest and tries to shut down. And of course, since it always gets into that mode when I'm home with my mother, she assumes that's how I always am. And she also seems to assume that I do absolutely nothing useful with my life.
And all of this culminated into today, where for the first time in months I had that uncontrollable desire to leave, to be on my own and responsible for myself. I don't think I've felt that feeling that strongly since my father left. I just felt like telling my mother that as long as she keeps saying no, I'm going to keep asking. And one day, I won't listen to her 'no'. And what's she going to do then? Short of threatening me and/or physically overpowering me, the only thing that allows her to make demands and orders is my respect for her, and my desire to live in a harmonious home. One that I'd like to be able to go back to, but not one that I'm chained to and required to be at all the time simply because it's my home.
It doesn't help that Mama is bitter. Not as bitter as she used to be, but bitter all the same. And just because I don't believe that a person should be a slave to love or any emotion, and just because I'm also cynical of 'crushes' and 'boyfriends' and silly girls, doesn't mean that I don't believe in love. Just because I might indulge in some gooey moments, doesn't mean that I think love is a sappy happily-ever-after path strewn with flowers. Which is why I was so surprised to find it so hard to go home alone and sleep alone, even after only two weeks living together and three days apart. Like I said, it's the little comforts. And I don't agree at all with Mama's proclamation that it's always nice to sleep alone after sharing a tiny bed with someone for two weeks. Quite the opposite. I find it horrible. I absolutely love sleeping with another person, whether it's Blair or Kellin. It's someone to be close to and share the space with... someone to wake up to in the morning.
*sigh* Now I feel even lonelier and even more sad to be here alone.
Seeing me crying tugged at Kellin's heartstrings a bit, I think. He told me not to worry, he'd come over Thursday. That soon we'd actually live together and it wouldn't matter. That he'd call me tonight. I think he understood that I wasn't only crying because I couldn't spend the night with him though, because after telling me those things he shut up and just held me, occasionally resting his head on my hair or stroking my waist.
I was crying for the loss of freedom, and the loss of responsibility. For the lack of trust and lack of understanding. For being so angry for the first time in so long, and for feeling that horrible feeling of just wanting to escape but being trapped. I was crying because I didn't want to go home. And finally I was crying just because I hurt. It's also been a long time, although not so long, that my family has truly hurt me, enough that I just wanted to curl up into a ball and bawl. I also picked that moment to remember the poetry I used to write when I hurt.
All I'll ever want in my darkest hour
Is someone to hold me as I cry
Someone to tell me, "Stop being shy".
And I realized that I had that person. Well, I have and have had a couple of people to hold me, people that I meshed with, but he was the person I had been searching for. And whenever I think that no, I'm just being silly, I'm too attached, whatever, another part of my brain says "Why can't it be real?" If the Universe can provide me anything, if only I ask for it in the right way and am grateful for it, then why not Kellin? I did ask for him. In fact, now that I look back I realize that I asked for him quite specifically. He may not be where my life is going to end, but for this time and hopefully for a while into the future, he is real and right for me and my needs. And I think that he asked for me, too. And I think that I'm what he needs, also.
Is that why it hurts so much to be separated from him uselessly? If there's a legitimate reason, it'll still bug me, but not deep down. This not only bugged me, it hurt. In fact, all I could think was this shouldn't be so hard. This shouldn't be so hard.
Ugh.
Lah.
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