I feel scared and alone.
Now, I know I am not actually alone; I have loving support just a call away and an entire set of heartbeats backing my steps. Knowing that doesn’t stop the feeling, though. No matter how many times I chant a mantra of serenity, the harsh reality of being cast into a foreign home, completely alone and hundreds of miles away from those I love corrodes my mind. I hear yells of how no matter how far I stretch my arms, I will never be close enough to the warmth of my sisters to truly feel calm.
I don’t know how I am going to pull this off. I had managed to wrap my mind around 239 miles, but 581? 935 kilometers from eating on the kitchen floor with my stepmom and car rides singing to our favorite overplayed songs? 1,023,141 yards from my sisters falling asleep on me as I run my fingers through their hair? 3,067,680 feet from feeling the safety of my father’s arms wrapped around me? I have held Elise close in my arms and even closer in my heart since the day she was born. I can’t begin to comprehend not being able to walk upstairs and see her, for her not to be able to curl up and fall asleep in my lap anytime she senses I’m feeling off. My father has been my rock and my shelter these last few years; how am I supposed to walk away from the safety and comfort I have built beside him? Brianna is every part my sister as much as Elise is. The thought of no longer hearing daily chants of my name in new twists or dancing around the kitchen to 80s classics hurts me more than I can put into words. My stepmother is one of the most amazing women I have ever had the chance to love and thinking about losing her, losing someone whose bond I need as direly as a tiger lily depends on the sun… I can’t begin to process it. None of it. I just can’t.
I know how to be independent; I have depended on myself and have had others depend on me for years. That isn’t the difficulty here. The thing is, I don’t know how to be alone.