Spending time pointing fingers is what I do instead of realizing that the blame is me. I can’t put blame on my mother for waking up in hell; I make my own life hell. Then, there are days I take time with God, so my days are brighter than the sun. Sometimes, I try to walk out of people’s lives that I love, and I don’t know why I do that when I know I can’t live without those great people.
Everything has its end; you can’t just choose to stop something without reason. And I have chosen to end the pain I carry with me every day but inside a false front of happiness. But nobody wins if we all walk away from who we really are.
If I could forgive and forget and stop worrying about others, think about how stress free I would be. I could be the happiest person on earth. Happy, happy, happy, I was happy at one point! We all have been, even if it’s only been for 30 seconds.
The time I recall I was happy happened when I turned fifteen, the day of my “quincenera.” Most of my family was together. Even my parents were as one. Even though that was my party, I didn’t make it my own. I shared my happiness with everyone who was present. Everything was perfect to me that day, except the fact that my limousine didn’t show up, but those things don’t really matter.
See, but then the next day is when your happiness slowly fades away because, something then triggers your other inner feelings you realize you are back to who you really are or to who you think you are.
I’ve seen a change within me, and I always say it’s because of my parents’ separation. But I believe it’s me just not knowing who I am. All these mood swings I have now happen because of me trying to see who I really am, and when I think I have found the answer, there is always something that doesn’t seem right. My mind always has something to worry about. Something that doesn’t let me take steps forward, something that keeps me going back. I believe that it is because of me, because of me not knowing who I am.