Hindsight

I thought and rethought that last post. But I let it stay. After all, it’s true.

I felt like I was being oddly cryptic, though, to put it out there and not explain myself.

Basically, my mother’s an alcoholic, I guess since about when that picture was taken. And I’ve spoken to her once in the last eight years.

I’d be prouder of myself if I could handle a relationship with her, but I haven’t been able to figure out how to do it and keep myself okay at the same time.

It’s not a dramatic story. She tried to be a good parent. She didn’t want to hurt anybody. She’s just profoundly unhappy. I wish it wasn’t like that, but it is.

So, that’s it.

With that said, just to clarify… I am happy. Most days, I’m happy to the point where I feel like I’m tempting fate.

I do think it’s a choice. Very much so. But when you’re as embarrassingly lucky as I am in so many ways… it isn’t a hard one.