I’m sitting here racked with guilt because after my mother’s death, all I can think about now is my own free time, and my own life.
Our home is littered with documents that still need filing or shredding.
Furniture that my brother brought home with him, with no where to put it until we get mom’s room cleaned out and painted.
Furniture and garbage filling the garage because we need to pay for someone to come and haul it away.
Documents I have to put together and get off to our lawyer.
A pile of thank you cards that are as of yet still unsent after a month and a half of sitting on my coffee table.
Books I hoped to read, music I hoped to listen to, a guitar, banjo and keyboard gathering dust.
“I’ll finally have time for my hobbies once I graduate and start my job,” I thought. Now I’m seeing my free time evaporate. Paying bills, running the cat to the vet, vacuuming, cleaning the bathrooms, cleaning the kitchen, mowing the lawn, hoping to find the time to powerwash the moss off our siding, still needing time to find time to eat and exercise.
I’m realizing that any dreams I ever had are going to have to be put on hold for the forseeable future. And it upsets me. And I’m an asshole for letting it upset me. There are more important things than what I want right now. But it just doesn’t feel fair. I spent the last five years of my life putting off…everything. Because my family had expectations for me. I had expectations for myself. And so everything but studies and my job were basically put on hold. “Oh, I’ll have plenty of time for this when I graduate. I’ll have plenty of time for that when I graduate.” And now I have. And I don’t. This isn’t how I wanted my life to begin.
I would cut down the time I spend outside of work with the new group I’m hanging out with, but socializing is TOO important. Especially for me, and especially now. I’ve delayed myself gratifications that by rights I should have pursued in college.
I need therapy. I’m literally going to kill myself with self-induced stress before I’m 30 if I can’t get the knots in my brain sorted out. And where as before that would have simply been a horrible thing, it’s now no longer an option for me. My sister still has a year of high school left, and then 4 years of college, and I’m officially responsible for her now. And by the time I’m done raising a sibling, I hope to be at least partly towards raising a family of my own.
It just doesn’t feel fair. I’m 23 and should be starting my life. The world should be my oyster. I used to listen to 3 albums a day, but now can’t find the time to listen to any, I used to feel inspired to write melodies. I wanted to write music. I wanted to learn to play those dust-gathering instruments competently. I wanted to read and write poetry. I wanted to read classic literature. I want to do so many things that just seem so futile right now. I haven’t felt inspired since my mom got sick. And now I just feel…selfish.