Ever have someone pour you a drink and tell you to say when? This indicates they’ve poured enough and stops the cup from overflowing.
I find myself wanting to scream “WHEN!!!” at the top of my lungs.
I was always an anxious kid. I was the teen that felt guilty all the time. The young adult that felt trapped. The adult who can’t get herself under control. Always that voice telling me I’ve done everything wrong. That voice that one minute sounds sweet and the next is telling me I’m never going to amount to anything.
A hug and a kiss goodbye and then a message telling me I’m terrible and my future husband will leave me.
Things have changed so much in my life but there’s been a constant. That voice who was thousands of miles away that said they missed me but in the same breath told me I’m getting fat.
That voice that cried wolf if things weren’t going their way. That person who’d try to manipulate me into feeling sorry for them, to apologize to them for things I didn’t even do. Who’d let someone call me a whore. Who would call my phone 20, 30, 40 times just to yell at me cuz I was 23 and it’s past midnight why wasn’t I home. Then I’d be home for a few days in a row and why wasn’t I getting any fresh air?
They bring out the worst in me. They make me angry. I feel things towards them I should not be feeling but that can’t be helped. Because for 33 years I’ve been dragged about and told to straighten my hair because I look like a witch with my hair curly. I was too skinny once then too fat. I lost weight but not enough. They’re so proud of what I’ve achieved but I’m too lazy.
I originally wrote this back in November while in Portugal. I decided it needed to be placed up here on my main blog. Check it out.
I have spent most of my life outside of the land I was born in. At first not by choice and then it was a decision I made.
Sitting here at 2:00am back in Portugal. I felt the need to write something that maybe no one understands. I left when I was four, but I think I forgot my soul here. Children are forgetful, and I left a piece of myself here.
I lived in New Jersey most of my life. It was never home to me. People always laugh when I say that because when I speak English I sound American. When I Speak Portuguese I sound American. When I speak German, yes I sound American. But I am not. I never became a citizen. It was not home. Sure I made wonderful friends. I wouldn’t change a thing about that, but I’ve felt lost for a lot longer than I realized and I’ve missed out on a life I will never know because it was never meant for me to meet.
I’ve missed out on a lot of things. I have watched young cousins grow up in splashes of time. Older relatives faces tell stories that I was never a part of. Does this make me sad? Well I think there’s a bit of sadness there sure. I would trade some aspects of my past to be able to have more memories with a lot of people. Then I look at how my life has worked out and how I’m currently sitting here again, and while I call Germany home, because it is my home, my soul may always live here in Portugal.
It’s an art really, to come back and each time feel like I’m meeting some people for the first time every time. But they’re so deeply embedded into my heart either way. Now as I watch my nephew beginning to grow here into someone who I am so proud of, my little niece who smiles more than any baby I’ve ever seen, I think about all the things I will be missing out on and how that breaks my heart.
Then I think about how much closer they are now, how much closer I am to the place where my soul lives. And there’s a joy there. One I am looking forward to exploring. It’s an art. The Art of Missing out.