It's the quiet moments like this when I realize I'm not okay. I realize that the brave face I put on everyday is a mask. A mask designed to hide all of the flaws and pain that have taken place in my life.
For some reason this semester has me on edge. The why is what gets me. I have an entire year to go. This isn't crunch time. I know I'm almost done. Maybe, psychologically, it's the beginning of the end.
Maybe the commute is finally getting to me. 35-40 minutes into Port Authority. A 15 minute hurried walk to the office. Sitting for the nest 8 hours doing maybe an hour or two worth of work per day. To say I'm bored is the understatement of the century. I'm on the edge of "I hate my job" territory. Actually, that's a lie. I do hate my job. It's a waste of time and knowledge. I could be 10x more productive at home or going to classes during the day. And yet finding a new job is damn near impossible. I'm not eligible because I'm not done with school. It's a cyclical mess.
And then there's the 15 minute walk back to Port Authority to catch a bus that I hope doesn't get stuck in traffic, just so I can hop in my car, again hoping to avoid traffic, and rush off to school for the rest of the night. I feel like all I do is rush. I hurry to and fro with no time to actually stop and think about what I'm doing.
And maybe I do that on purpose. I know I thrive on being busy. Maybe I stay busy so that my mind doesn't have time to think, because when I do, it truly hurts.
I find that I truly hate being away from my niece. I am missing the day to day smiles, giggles and steps she is taking. And yet, I can't help but feel stuck here. If only for another year. My life changed so much the day she was born and the day I lost my sister.
I find that I miss my sister more and more every day. I want to text her. I want her to see how her daughter is growing and learning. I want her to hear her laugh and see her smile. And I know that it will never happen. She will never see those things and I will never see her again. And every day my heart breaks a little more.
It breaks for my sister. It breaks for my niece. And it breaks for me. For the moments I can never have. That moments I can't share with her. It's all a what if. Millions of questions never to be answered. And the thing is, it's an inconsolable hurt.