TW: purposeful self isolation, self loathing, self hate
My phone rings. I leave it to ring, knowing it's just my mom for the third time today, checking in to see if I've settled into my new apartment well enough. I answered her first two calls, and as much as I love her dearly, I just want some peace and quiet.
I turn on my music, quietly playing it out loud as I hum along. I clean my new pans that I just bought, and look out the window at the rainy day. Somewhere, on the other side of the world it isn't raining. It might be warm, the sun setting over the water. Maybe if I had my own place, it could feel like my own personal sunset.
I feel quite alone. I mean, it's not like I don't have anybody. I have my parents, that one childhood friend I haven't spoken to in, oh, a year?
I take back my previous statement, I am hopelessly and utterly alone where I reside. I've never even accomplished anything in the town where I've lived my whole life. I have no grip on this place, and with that, nothing to be remembered by.
In school, friends would come and go, just like the tide, but at the end of the day the sand would always get pushed away, and it'll dry out. I ended up as the sand in those situations. A friend group would be made, and it would be comfortable for anywhere from a year to three, until inevitably everyone separates into their own little friendships, and the group drifts apart.
I've always loathed myself for never choosing a person from at least one group to stick with. I've craved that type of friendship for as long as I can possibly remember. Being able to go and blast music in an empty parking lot, dance around and not be judged for it, but rather be loved more.
To be able to look at someone and say with full honesty, "I trust you with my life."
But how can I ask someone else to care for me that much when I can't even care for myself? Y'know, I've tried hard to love myself. I really have. But alas, it always seems to fall in through. Maybe if someone else could show me that I can be loved, I could learn to love myself, permanently.
But alas, I'm standing here at a sink, in an apartment, in a town, in a country i;ve almost never left. I regret buying this place.
I could have taken my chance, moved to somewhere like, oh, La Jolla for an example. A nice neighborhood that spans over seven miles of the coastline in San Diego, California. It's stunning there, and definitely better than staying where my non-existent history lies still for the rest of time.
I could pack my bags right now, and be gone before even my parents wake up. I could be going across the ocean, at peace with myself. But no, I bought another place I'll be forced to stay in, both out of guilt, and saving enough money to continue living.
For now, I'll stay, and try to be happy with myself.
Until further notice, La Jolla.
