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When you spend a day crying over books you don't just move on the next day. October was being serious. It wasn't just a new year's resolution, like convincing yourself you'd start exercising or learn an instrument that you never actually do. The idea being disregarded because it was inconvenient; habits were hard to form and it took too long. She didn't spend the next morning clearing her mind with the help of the beach's breeze just to abandon the clarity she had gained.
Being available for her friends was something she wanted to do . . . needed. Maybe it was for selfish reasons because she wanted to feel helpful. That she wanted to prove that she could be sensitive, for her own piece of mind - to soothe her conscience. She wanted people to confide in her. They might not receive comfort in return but she could give advice. That had never been an issue. She was great at offering her opinions (maybe too good at it, giving them when they weren't asked for).
Honesty was meant to be praised, she thought it was overrated because she believed it did more harm than good. That her adherence to the truth upset people. She didn't know why she always had to say what she believed, not caring if it was harmful, but she did. It was a compulsion.
Maybe it was because her Mother always gave. She did everything for other people and nothing for herself. It annoyed October - she wanted her to do something for herself. She wanted to scream at all the good people she knew to be selfish - to do what they wanted. Maybe she was deflecting because their nobility only the lack of hers more noticeable.
There was something about parents that made you want to be the complete opposite of them. She should want to be what her Mother was. Yet she listened to every complaint she made after work, all the times she would get frustrated (but tried to hide it) because she had no time to herself, and she wanted to be different. Complaining annoyed her, she enjoyed fun - being selfless didn't seem like fun.
Her Mother was designed to be a Mother - she doesn't know how else to explain it other than it was as though it was her destiny. That she was designed with all the traits she would need and she was created. It only made sense that she was made for someone else. It made October feel guilty, that her Mother was created for her - she didn't think that she deserved it. October wasn't designed to be a Daughter. She couldn't love like her Mum. She couldn't reach the standard that her Mum set so she didn't try.
She was so worried about being lovable. About someone loving her, to be loved. She was so concerned about receiving admiration. To be something people desired. She worried about spreading her love too thin. That if she loved too many things then they'd only get a fraction of the affection that they deserved. She had to devote herself to one thing, to give it all to her the little love she had otherwise it would be worthless. She loved everything, she worried that she didn't love anything enough.
