1/15/24

I was not a happy teenager. I lived in a small town, and a pretty conservative one at that; my high school was also small, and by sophomore year I felt like I had experienced everything I needed to. I knew everyone, and I didn't like most of them, my mind was entirely consumed by how much better off I would be somewhere with more people; a city, where there was more than one gay person per square mile and I would have the option to befriend people I was similar to, rather than solely based on the desire for companionship. I needed out, and it only made it worse that, as I grew older and entered into the angst and anger stereotypical of a troubled teenager from a Made for TV Disney movie, the frustration I felt at my situation was pointed towards my parents.

 My parents split when I was very young, shortly after my first birthday. I remember thinking that I would eventually get used to it; I had very few real memories of a time before the divorce, so it made sense that I should grow accustomed to the split-parent lifestyle at some point. I didn't. Living out of a suitcase 99% of the time, regardless of how long I had to adapt, was not an enjoyable way to go about my most formative years, and I made sure to express that. My Dad had custody, and unfortunately, the divorce was not necessarily easy; neither of my parents was the biggest fan of each other, and though they tried their best to leave me and my sister out of it, we both could feel the tension the second the "other parent" was mentioned. 

As a result, my relationship with all four of my parents wasn't the greatest. I blamed them, at the time, for making my life so difficult, for not trying to make it easier; unbeknownst to the fact that I was not exactly the easiest kid to raise. They did the best they could; I can see that now. However, at the ripe age of 17 years old, coming towards the last semester of high school, and the looming pressure of college, my brain was simply too internally focused to make a smart decision, and all of the aforementioned details resulted in a decision to move to the farthest school I got accepted into. I didn't know how far it would actually feel once I was there, nor what it would feel like once the angst died down; I was ignorant, and I made a decision that, at the moment, I thought was a smart one. 

All I wanted was to get out, as far away as possible, and start my own life. And for the first year or so that's what I did. Living in the dorms, I was as close to my classes as possible, constantly surrounded by friends I made of my own accord, and continued to be naive enough to think I had "gotten out" and all my problems, at least geographically, were solved. My Dad and Stepmom moved to Arizona with me, and though they lived a few hours away, I was initially annoyed by the closeness. I missed my Mom, I was always much closer to her, and it felt almost insulting that I saw them about once a month while they were in town and couldn't see my mom at all unless I took the five-hour flight home. 

That changed when came back from Summer Break at the start of my sophomore year. I had an apartment and a job, I was back in school; everything in me was bursting with excitement to start my adult life. I got comfortable. Everything wasn't new anymore, and with that, came the realization of what starting my adult life would look like. Yes, I had an apartment now, but I also had to pay rent now, and just as I wanted, I had to do it on my own. I had to feed myself, every single night, and what's worse, I had to decide what to feed myself. I realized being an adult was much more real for me than it was for the people around me. My money went towards staying alive, rather than drinks and trips. My eyes were bigger than my stomach, and though I was still only 19 at the time, I was hit with the reality of the situation I had put myself in. 

When I went home for Christmas that year, it was different. I didn't cry when I got there this time I cried when I left. I missed my Mom and my Sister, I loved being with my whole family again, I loved the freedom of having nothing to do, and not being expected to do anything. Regardless of if or where I went to college, I had always known I wanted to move out as soon as I could, and I didn't want to go back. Now, I was faced with a very complex feeling; I was growing out of the phase in which I thought living with my family was embarrassing, and what's more, I had spent enough time away from my family that getting to see them was exciting, something I, finally, looked forward to.

Arizona wasn't fun anymore, but rather, something I had to get done. I was over being an adult and being on my own; I had reached the point in my adult life where I didn't want to be one anymore. I wanted my Mommy. The lack of support was finally showing, and Christmas break 2023 fully cemented this idea. For the first time, I was dreading coming back. I had put everything and more into the last semester with the idea of going home and seeing my Mom, finally being able to exhale knowing I had nothing to get done. Though the stress of what being home over Christmas break feels like was still very much present, the stress of knowing I had to return overshadowed it.

When I got back I had three days in Arizona before leaving once again for a Disneyland trip my Dad, Stepmom, Sister and I had been planning for a few months. Three days, two days in the park, every second spent with my family at Disneyland California. Then I had to come back. One day before my classes started. I got through the first semester of my junior year with my eyes on the prize, then Christmas, my birthday, New Year's Eve, and Disneyland happened all within two weeks, and then it was over. Two weeks of excitement, joy, and ease, then directly back to the overwhelming loneliness Arizona now stood for. 

It was this time my Dad told me he and my Stepmom were moving to Washington. While originally swept up in the mania of moving somewhere new as I was, and firm as I was that I didn't need them to visit me all the time, I was struck with a newer, scarier reality. Not only was I finally to the point where I could openly admit I loved and missed my parents, and realize how badly I wanted the ability to see them more often, but I am now officially, actually, very, alone. 

My Dad is a strange fellow. Very emotional, and very loving of his family, but equally very uncomfortable expressing those feelings. We don't and haven't had the best relationship. While everything I am is accredited to my Mom everything I like is from my Dad. Regardless of previous issues we've run into, I miss him a lot, especially now; especially since he's moved. I don't want to be here anymore, I don't want to be alone anymore, and now I'm both here and even more alone than I was before.

This is a love letter to my parents. An apology for all the care and effort my younger self took for granted. At the ripe age of 21 years I've finally matured in a way I thought was the opposite of maturity three years ago. I love my family more than anything, and I miss them a lot right now. As much as I know I will see them again soon, the pressure of school is making it significantly more difficult to do it all by myself.