I envy freedom. It’s a taste I’ve long since forgotten.
How I yearn for those days, that life, my life. My life is no longer my own. Freedom tied tightly to a string and let go with the wind.
My life is no longer my own.
My mom recently said to me, “Life is about choices.” “I know,” I said. “But the kids were not my choice.”
Because sometimes we forget it is entirely possible to become a victim of circumstance. No matter how many strangers commend me or tell me I have the option to walk away, it’s not as simple as either. Being this, playing this role, is both a gift and a curse. It was done both to me and for me. But a choice it was not, and a choice it is not.
You see, when there are other lives in the mix, little lives, you can’t simply turn your back over the legalities. When children need you they need you. It doesn’t matter who you are. A provider is a provider, and children need to be provided for. They are already suffering. How selfish of others to think it’s as simple as “you can step away.”
No, I cannot.
No, I will not.
But, oh, how I took my freedom for granted.
I wish I had lived a little more, traveled a little farther, stayed out later, seen more sunrises, and loved a little harder. Because now… Now, there is no going back.
I spent the last few years of freedom suffering in my own emotional hell. I wasted my time while I wasted away. And I can never get it back. Those long lonely hours, night spent awake, nights spent away.. They are all gone now. My freedom to be sick is gone now. The choice of whether to stay or to go is no longer my own to make.
Some days I mourn the loss of who I could have been.