The Blogtastic Blogfest That Is Getmeoutofthis.net!

Sunday night, I got home late, and I was greeted by my dog bounding out of the parents’ bedroom, dashing down the stairs, and jumping all over me excitedly. She was so happy to see me, and we sat down and played for awhile.

And this made me very sad.

I called up Brer, and I told him his, and he was confused. “That’s a good thing.”
“I know. She’s happy to see me. She wants me here. She’ll always want me here. Maybe… others won’t.”

It’s stupid, I know. I have my parents assurance that they’ll always love me, and be there for me, and I know they weren’t lying to me. I know they’ll be there. At the same time, it’s that idea that, once things get into fuller swing, they won’t want me there… that idea is upsetting. I thought it had gone away once I told them, but it hasn’t.

I mean, I have plenty of support. I have plenty of people that love me. Hell, even Ian left me a message of support out of nowhere, which was kind of shocking, but nice. I have people behind me, and I will survive.

But it’s always been about my parents. It’s always been about worrying about my parents. That’s always been what’s holding me back. And even though I’ve taken control, and I am not going to give it up, it’s still where my problem lies. I need to start getting electrolysis and stuff, but I’m worried about freaking them out. So I stall. It’s still the same damn thing. Same worries, over and over again.

Comparing that unconditional love of a puppy to the love my parents have for me is unfair. They have their own hopes and dreams. They have things that are important to them. They’re people. They do love me, but they’re going to have reactions to this stuff. They aren’t going to be jumping up and down, happy that I’m doing this. It’s normal. It doesn’t mean they don’t love me. I understand that. Sometimes the voice in the back of my head doesn’t, I guess.