I completely lost my mind last night.
I guess after reading Harry Potter with [spoiler…highlight if you’re ready] all the people dying (and for crying out loud! Rowling, do you REALLY need to kill off Hedwig?? Dammit woman!!!)[/spoiler] and all the emotional rollercoaster-ing I did, a fuse in my head went *poof*.
I burst into unreasonable fountain of tears. Like Australian barn mice Steve Irwin busted into, my emotions ran amok.
I was pissed off. I was paranoid. I was pessimistic.
After much yelling, crying, and sifting through the rubbles, I found out what it all was.
I was scared. Correction. I have been and am scared.
This whole time of acting tough, putting on the armor and fighting life stuff, it all boils down to one fact.
I am scared.
I’m scared for my family. I’m scared for me. I’m scared what life will be without mom in it. Given, she’s not in it much nowadays, but she’s still the center of it all. I’m scared of what will become of my family when she’s gone. I’m afraid of what will become of me when she’s gone. I’m scared that me then wouldn’t be like me now. I’m scared that me then may screw things up with my life in the US.
I’m scared that somehow with my impending experience, I would totally fuck everything up. My family back home. My little family of two here. My own sanity.
I’m just plain scared.
And I didn’t want to acknowledge it. And it has been eating at me. For a very long time. I couldn’t figure out what it was. I thought something was wrong with me. I thought I did something to piss people off. I started to blame everything else around me. I started to blame myself. It was a total downward spiral until last night.
Guilt. Fear. Sadness. Anger. All rolled into a small bundle, put under pressure and much like a homemade concoction, it eventually exploded.
It took a break down to have a break through, I guess.
At least now I’m back to my normal self. Well, still a little off, but at least I know to address my feelings instead of putting a lid on it.
So, that’s enough about me. How are ya?