ME, A BRICK WALL, AND I.
If you ask my friends about me, they’ might tell you I’m strong, independent, tough. After all, I’ve got the career, an apartment all to myself, and the means to do a lot of things I want to do. And it’s true. It’s really absolutely fucking true.
I really had no choice but to become independent. It’s not so much that I’m naturally a go-getter, it’s that my livelihood depends on it. Living at my parents’ home and not utilizing my degree was never an option. Having my rent paid or my student loans taken care of were never options, either. I don’t come from money. So, I did what I had to do. What I have to do.
It sounds kind of silly, but the hardest part of being on my own was the little things. Struggling to carry my heavy groceries home. Learning how to fix things. Finding the fuse box. Figuring out how to work a fucking fuse box. And even shit like not being able to pass the pickle jar to someone because it’s too hard to open. It was little, microscopic things that would make just a few seconds of my day a little bit easier if I had someone there.
Ok, boo hoo, Sabreena.. You have to lift a fuckin finger. I get how it sounds. The problem with this independence is that it becomes who you are. It’s hard to rely on anyone for anything, because you know you’re more capable of getting it done than anyone else. You’re able to help others, because quite frankly, you help yourself everyday. You do shit on your own terms - it’s hard to let anyone tell you what to do because they’re not paying your bills. You wouldn’t let ‘em anyway. If you’re having a bad day, you suck it up, because you simply don’t have the patience to explain your struggles to someone you know won’t understand. And when you have a need, you figure it out or you don’t. You likely do because what the fuck else.
If you’re lucky, one day you might meet a boy. He might do things like carry your bags for you. Change your light bulbs. Bring you a glass of water when you can’t peel yourself from the couch which is great because if he weren’t there you’d probably never get up. He might make little decisions for you, like what to eat. Maybe he’ll drive you home when you’re out late with your friends because he wants to make sure you got home safe, which is a relief because you just spent the last hour making sure all of your friends were okay and got home themselves. He might take you out. If you let him do these things.
If you do let him do these things, the indestructible wall you built might start to crumble a little bit. You become open to the idea of letting someone help you. You’re so overwhelmed with taking care of yourself and everyone else, that the idea of someone doing something for you feels like a fucking dream. You start to imagine what it’d be like to have someone you could finally rely on. Someone who , just like you do to your friends, is there to pick up your call or text you back. Not always right away, but when they can - not when it’s convenient. Someone who lightens the load every person in your life dumped on you. Someone who sees the pain in your eyes because they know you.
But that’s a lot of shit to expect from a person. It doesn’t feel like it, because after all, you do this for almost everyone in your life, but you understand not everyone is like you. That’s another thing. You have to be understanding or you’’ll go crazy. So when that person doesn’t text you back, follow through with plans, make sure you’re okay, it’s kind of devastating. And to them, they don’t understand what the big deal is. After all, they’re just little microscopic things that only make a few seconds of your day easier if you have someone there. And you’re back at square one. You’re left to pick up the pieces of the wall that crumbled and find a way to put it back together. They’re small pieces, but to you they’re everything. And then you tell yourself that this is proof of what you already knew. Those lightbulbs are yours to change.
