It’s nice to think that tomorrow is a new day without any mistakes in it yet, but what about the day after tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that? When do mistakes stop being made, and how do I know I have ever even made them?
There are so many things I wish I could have told my younger self, so many things I wish that I had done. But all I did, was dream.
When the sounds from down the hall of my mother and her boyfriend were too loud, when I could hear her gasping for air. When I had no idea if he was choking her- or if her anxiety was so goddamn bad that she couldn’t process what was going on for better or worse. I dreamt that I was being held, as I do every night. That someone would dot my cheeks with kisses, and promise me that things would end. That’s how all of my daydreams seem to end late at night, but the setting always changes. Tonight it was a simple bedroom that smelled of caramel, and I was held by someone that looked neither woman, nor man. Who had angular features, and soft eyes. Who’s hair pressed against my neck as they would bury themselves into my shoulder. I think it’s very silly that I’m so willing to throw myself into the arms of my dreams, but I would never dare allow anyone else to hold me like that.
There are so many problems, habits I have discovered from my childhood trauma, that I am just starting to unravel. How I’m afraid to ask my friends over, for fear that I would be told I am not worthy of such a pleasantry. Or even if they were permitted to come over, I would be forced to clean the house from top to bottom to ensure no embarrassment came to our family name. I remember late nights locked in my basement, with my only source of entertainment being a tablet that I snuck from my room. Turning now the volume as low as possible for fear that my mother's boyfriend would hear me. Hoping that the rattling of the drier would soften the sound of my fingertips as I tapped against the screen, dreaming that instead of a moldy, mildewy basement, that it was a beautiful castle, and the spiders that made home in our ceiling were my subjects.
I remember being greeted every day by a list of things I had to do, or I would be punished. And if I did all of those things, one of them was done wrong. However if I forgot something- I was given more the next day. And yet.. Even as I look back at it now, sixteen years of age. I cannot truthfully tell myself that I was mistreated. Because maybe I was just helping my hosuehold, maybe I had done nothing right.
I still come home to that list.
I still forget.
I have just stopped wondering how things effected me. I guess I stopped trying to dig further, to see if I was the problem, or if I was made out to be.
I didn't try to go out anymore.
My friends stopped asking me, and I can't say I blame them. Who wants to constantly put themselves out on the line for someone who would never do the same in turn? They planned elaborate events, and I didn't want to have to clean my home.
It isn’t like I go out anyway, for I have the irrational fear that if I am not there to care for my mother, my family- that he will gobble them up like tic tacs and I may never see them again. I am unable to have fun. Maybe that’s why I dream of distant lands, and force my mind to settle itself down at night. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to go outside, and see the people I care most about. Maybe the stories I have made inside my head are worth more than any friendship could possibly fragmented out of.
It's alright you don't have to beat yourself up. I m what is going on in your life right now but remember to love yourself. All of us here are daydreamers. I personally DD to compensate what I have lost and what I long for. I think you long for some little love and care from your family (mostly your mother) and you seemed really scared. Don't worry, its ok to be scared, to hope, to long for something. your daydreaming is a coping mechanism. I don't know what else to say but stay strong. You can talk about anything here. Hope we can make it out together.