(If you don’t care about my personal life, please disregard)
I’m sick of the desert.
I’m sick of stupid palm trees where palm trees have no right to be. I’m sick of landscapers who think that gravel and cactus are acceptable suburban landscaping. I’m sick of scorpions and I’m sick of stucco and I’m sick of thorns on every plant and hiking trails made up of rocks, dust, and more saguaro than can possibly be healthy for anyone to look at. I’m sick of just about everything that surrounds me on a daily basis when I’m at home.
I’m sick of my soul feeling lighter when I leave the desert and make it up to the pine trees and grassy hills of…any place and I’m sick of the unrelenting soul sucking feeling that comes with rolling back into this god-forsaken wasteland where I live. I’m sick of feeling my attitude and mood drop along with the altitude.
I’m sick of always feeling like I’ve made the wrong decision and always feeling like I’m at the wrong place at the wrong time.
I’m sick of constantly feeling like Sarah in the Labyrinth, turning around to find that the way back is closed to me and the way forward is impossible to navigate. Sick of hearing my subconscious saying “it’s not fair” while the rest of my brain is telling me “shut the fuck up, life isn’t fair.”
I’m sick of having dreams and wants, but not being able to accomplish them because I’m lucky if I can pay my credit card payment everything month. I’m sick of feeling lucky if I get a few hundred dollars from my job every 6 weeks.
Most of all I’m sick of being trapped in a place that makes me sick, because I’m being pulled between doing something for myself and feeling like a terrible person if I don’t stay where I am and be the dutiful daughter and helping keep my family afloat.
Maybe I’m just sick.
Sometimes I just want to pack a bag and start walking, just to get to somewhere that’s…not here. Most of the time the only thing that’s stopping me is the fact that I don’t have the money to do it. That doesn’t stop me from making myself sick by dreaming about it.
And every time I leave here, it’s more difficult to make myself come back.