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Monday, August 13


I cried last night. Last night, when my mom and I were outside, searching desperately for meteors falling from the sky, I cried. I told her I didn't want to leave my family. That I would miss everything. That I would feel alone. And I know that somewhere within me, I am deeply, unmistakably sad about these things. About being so far from them. But at the same time, I do not think I cried because I was sad; I think I cried because the feeling came, and I knew it would relieve my mother if I did. I knew that she would be comforted by this sadness. That she would see it as a sign of my love for her. Because those are the signs she takes and holds onto. Signs that remind her of her usefulness, of how much we need her, of how much we love her. It is not enough to perform small tasks for her, to want to please her with every part of your being. It is not enough to hug her or tell her you love her. She needs more. And so I gave it to her. Even in the moment, I felt fake. My crying did not feel genuine. The words that were coming from my mouth seemed over dramatic. I meant them. But in that moment, the words did not matter as much as the reaction they received.

I cannot stand myself sometimes.

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