We have one chance to get it right, to find what we’ve been searching for all this time. We have one chance at life, we only die once and throughout time if we aren’t careful, little pieces die inside. We have one chance to find that deep love, a deep love that knows no bounds and has no remorse; it can be so frightening to let go without knowing how it ends. We’re given so much in the beginning, a fresh new life with endless opportunities and things of that beautiful nature. My earliest memories are with my father. Sitting on my grandmother’s rocking chair on a cold night in the living room, rocking next the old black heater that kept us warm for many years and falling sleep in his arms. I’m not completely sure if that’s a memory or a dream but it feels good to think about. Another is sitting on the armrest in the car driving somewhere just him and I. It feels like torture now to think about all those things now that I don’t know him anymore and I’m sure he feels the same. I couldn’t possible know how it feels to mess up and to pay for it everyday of your adult life by not being able to see your own children, to miss out on everything. From first walks, to school, to dances, first crushes, getting grounded, learning about life and death, and graduations from childhood into adulthood. I’m not mad at situations I have no control over, I feel sorry because his son grew up with a different father, a good one at that. It just makes me wonder if were different, would our lives be this good, this happy?? For as long as I can remember, there’s always something wrong in my life, around my life, or just me. I can remember them fighting a lot. Screaming, yelling, crying, even hitting maybe, I’m not too sure about that one. I remember being at my grandparents hating it there because as soon as my gpa was drunk he was talking about my dad. “It’s your fault he’s gone”. I heard that a lot, it was always upsetting and I would never forget that. I was so sensitive to that issue whenever it would come up, I could feel the tears start to come but I always pushed them back down and put on the happy face. I was always the one to laugh and be happy no matter what. I learned to push what I really felt out of what I wanted to be seen like. I still have that problem; I don’t like to say what I’m really feeling inside. I don’t like to have that gut-wrenching feeling in my stomach when I know something bad is happening. Going through all of that I understand why we moved away. Stability, normality, and a chance to grow into something more that the people we were leaving behind. I know this was for the better and I see the change in my family and me. How much better we are in the long run. The one thing is growing up apart from all the family I grew up with. When I go back, I feel out of place because my younger cousins are so close the ones my age and I feel out of touch. I find it a bit strange that the last time I’ve seen some of my close cousins is when they were 8, 9, and 10 and are now teens in high school. I’ve realized a lot of things about myself that I don’t like and I’ve tried to hide for so long. I hate being so willing to show my sadness I hate crying in front of people, I always say I’m tired. That’s my way out of talking about what’s wrong with anything. “I’m tired.” I’d rather just put on a smile try to not have someone ask what’s going on. I know I’m not ready to share what I really feel with everyone. I can barely manage to let frank know and he’s been my everything for so long. All our problems could be solved so easily if I was just willing to let go and say something. But for me it’s not that simple. Why?? I don’t know why. I should re-read what I just wrote to figure that out. I think I’ve let go much more than I intended. Don’t read this.