Once you’ve broken a habit, it can be hard to come back. I’m not disappointed, nor do I think anyone is. But when I count the days it’s been since I posted, it’s harder to come back. But I am. There’s more work to do, more to clear from my system. I’ve been preparing for my trip. Preparing writing, preparing the people on my team. It feels odd to prepare for one’s own absence. To hear others assure that everything will be fine. Makes you question the need for yourself. Obligations keep people, “I can’t leave; they need me”. But they will be fine. They must. When I first left for college, I abandoned my obligations, those which eventually pulled me back. Those which died with my mother. When you are your only obligation, you become more aware, of how this, the very system in which you were born, may be bad for you. Working until you can no longer. Going mad within a structure, who only cares if you can labor.
I’ve been thinking about how it will be to get away, imagining a life in nature, one in which it is entirely up to me how I live, how I survive. Wondering if I’ll want to come back. I love this city. Love these people. But as I begin to consider the life ahead of me, I sour. I question if the women from which I am made going mad were simply a product of circumstances. Industrialization’s ware. I don’t want to. I don’t want to become my mother. To distrust and hurt those that I love. And if I must, I don’t want it to be here. I don’t want those who care for me to have to watch. I can’t burden them in the way my mother had to me. But if there is any hope to avoid my fate, I think it has to be away from here. I’m hoping to get answers. To get options.
I want to live another way.