Lately I’ve been asking what can only be considered existential questions. I’m 22, married, and living in an apartment registered to my first and last name. I write $850 dollar checks that are comprised of my money, and her money, every month to continue to allow my residence in the apartment I’m currently typing in. At night, I lay on my bed and think of my now 51 year old mother, or “ma” as I really call her, and how sad it will be when she dies. The thought of it breaks my heart because I am not brave enough to think of a world without her.
Is it my constant hunger for relevance?
Is depression stemming from my constant hunger for relevance?
Is it sadness stemming from having nothing to be sad about?....because, my life from the outside in looks fucking awesome. I have a stepping-stone of a job I don’t hate, a wife who is a great human being, and a wonderful mother who lives a simple life and only really cares about being a great mother.
Does it terrify me that I don't need her anymore?
Does it terrify that my life experience is fueling my existence in the form of work and money?
I guess, this is dedicated to her...my mom, well, the caricature of my her. because when she’s around, she’s just, mom, and not a wonderful cast member in my romanticized life.
I am desperate to make an interesting point...to be honest, because isn’t that what reading is supposed to be...nourishing?? What a waste if you’ve journeyed through these characters and letters to find the moral of the story is “I feel small in this big world”.
Well I only hope you learn to forgive me because this has helped. I feel like I’m rejoicing in a small victory... For these few moments at least, I feel at ease.
