Sometimes I miss it. Having someone there, to be my last call of the night. The last person that I talk to before I drift off to sleep. I miss having someone to talk to about anything that was bothering me. Someone to hold me, tell me that it will all be okay. Someone that asks me how my day was. Someone supportive, affectionate, comforting. Someone to feel safe around. Someone who listens. Someone I trust and that believes in me enough to trust me in return. Someone that will understand and still be there no matter how badly I fuck up….
This person doesn’t exist. The worst part. I don’t believe they ever will. It’s a fantasy. I can wish all I want but reality always ends up carrying me back to the surface.
I know why I don’t trust. Why I won’t open up. Why I won’t fully let anyone in. I’ve figured out where all this stems from. I have fought to change it. To repair it. To make everything better. To get rid of the most painful thing in my life. But nothing has worked. No one understands. I can’t bring myself to discuss the subject with anyone. It has gotten worse. It all has to do with one monumental person in my life. My mother. And one subject. Alcoholism.
I cried the whole way home and now I am sitting here writing about this in my fucking blog.
As I said, I wish I had a last call…