I spend so much time trying to not be her that maybe I’m turning into her.
I don’t want to push my family away.
I don’t want to become bitter.
I want my babies to want to come see me and talk to me.
I try to be kind.
I try to be forgiving.
I try to be selfless.
I try to be nonjudgmental.
I think I’m failing though.
I see how she looks at me.
I see the disgust.
“It gets better” is what they say. But what if it doesn’t?
What if it turns out our stories are the same?
“We control our destiny.” But what if we don’t?
What if all of this is for nothing?
But what if it changes?
What if it does really get better?
What if we do control our own destiny?