I dreaded seeing you again; I didn't look forward to it. I didn't know what would happen, because anything could happen from the last time we talked. But I was excited too; I thought maybe, just maybe, this time it would be different. Maybe we'd step into a new realm. There were all these things I wanted to say to you. I had conversations written down in my journal, I had run through them all in my head and imagined that you'd let out a sigh of relief because even though what I had to say may not be what you'd want to hear, at least it's there.
But it never goes that way. It always sounds better when I'm imagining it, and it makes so much more sense. When I finally saw you, it was as if I had been living in a different world, and with you around, everything would seem so silly, so trivial and irrelevant. I wanted to explain it, even though I had no idea if you'd like it or not, I thought you deserved at least a chance to try and understand. I know you have always tried, and I haven't been easy. You knew long before I did that I am trouble for myself.
Maybe we've both gone too far into the deep end and we can't pull ourselves back out. I didn't know where to start, and when I finally decided that I'd just pick a random point and start, I told myself, "she won't get it." Maybe that's exactly it. I could picture you nodding in agreement, or smiling a bittersweet smile, torn between understanding and accepting the fact. And I was afraid that it would be different. What if you stared blank at me instead? What if you looked at me in disappointment, not knowing what to make of what I said and blaming yourself for not knowing how I got here? It was easier to tell myself to not bother trying. It was easier to talk about something else, to talk about school, about work, about everyone else we know, their lives. Everything but you and I.
And all that is not news. It's been like that for a while now, whether I was conscious of it or not. What bothers me now is that when I saw you again, it didn't bother me anymore. There was no sense of urgency, and I didn't feel the need to explain. I wanted that connection, but I accepted it as a lost cause. It would come, I figured, there would be a right time and place and it would just flow naturally. I'm sorry, Mom, I tried, and I tried hard. I really did. But still it was harder to live the perfect life, or to admit that I couldn't. It's different for me, and I hope you understand, but I mean, what am I talking about, if you do, this whole problem wouldn't exist in the first place. I don't remember how it came to this either, but now I'm just stuck in a circle... where there's no beginning and no end.