I write to you dear journal, to unburden my mind, I hope when this is over. The weight will be lifted, there are moments where I feel as if I'm losing myself. And moments where I have full confidence in what is yet to come. My emotions have always been something I have buried. Something that was not to be shared, not to be seen. To be concealed at all times. My Mother's influence of that I am certain. She neither had the time nor patience to nurture the feelings that rose up in her daughters. To this day, I do not know, what we were to her. It looks like I will never know. But what I do know, is that I will give my son, all the love that is in my power to grant. To be frank, though, I worry that somehow, I will fall short. That somehow he won't be happy with the life that I offer him. Part of me feels as if I was never meant to do this alone, which is quite true. I never expected Raymond to pass away, I never expected to be on the road at the meager age of fifteen, yet here I am. A decade later with a bright little boy who wants nothing more than to grow and live.
If this is the case, then why do I feel so alone?
