I am not the first woman to have a child with a man that I do not love. I am twenty-two. I am a young mother, but infants. Infants are innocent untouched by the world. Untouched by the burden of time. I was like that once. A frail little thing in the arms of my Mother, crying, but confused at the silence of the world. Or should I say the silence of my world? This journal will always remain among my most precious possessions. Because it is here I have a real voice. I have many thoughts. Thoughts that are too difficult to express without a voice that I cannot hear. On the inside there is the girl, the girl that never lived, the girl that screamed and cried when she was taken away. Coexisting with the woman that knows there is more to her life than this. Who am I? There are times where I think I know the answer. Times where I believe that I have all the clarity I need.
Then... Insecurity the feeling of not being enough. I wish I was not so self-aware. It is a blessing and a curse. To see so much and to know so little. Light and darkness have nothing in common. That is why there is always war between the two. I often wonder if others speak about me behind my back. And if they do what do they say? Should I care? Am I even worth speaking about? There I go again. Doubting.
Tarsorel won a fight if a fight it could be called. I have yet to check on him, what kind of companion am I? I will do better. I will try harder. That's the only thing I can do. Try harder and not bring everyone else down into the depths with me if it can be helped. But everyone makes their own choices right?
Choices are still so very foreign to me. The concept of doing something that is of your own accord. That is not on behest of someone else's will or control. One day at a time, one foot in front of the other. Yes.
