Done with crying.

A while back I purchased a book and workbook called Done With Crying. I wasn’t done with crying then and so they sat on my bedside table for months.

Now I’m ready and I’m so done. No more crying over a child who does not care about her mother, her brother or our lives. A child who has insulted everyone and everything. Who only sees what they perceive as being not good enough but don’t acknowledge a single wonderful moment in their upbringing. Private schools, how many times to Disney? Was it more than 20? Because your dream was to be an imagineer? I suppose you were my sidekick on those holidays. No, my child, I was yours. I was honoured to be your sidekick and give so much of myself freely because I love you so much it hurts. I was happy to be your sidekick on the school trip to Boston. I was happy to be your sidekick when I volunteered at your school. And at brownies and swimming lessons. When you had castings and long shoots. When you moved to your dad’s and I stopped by and stayed all day to build that damned bed with you that your father refused to help with, saying ‘I didn’t sign up to build a bed’. Neither did I! I had a hundred things to do that day but I took off my coat and said, ‘We’ve got this!’ even though you were rotten to me consistently. And supporting you dropping out of university to take a break after grandpa died. And then facilitating your early acceptance into the next uni which you then also dropped out of. Oh, and supporting yoga classes before uni, never questioning that ‘out of the blue’’ decision. And I believe I paid off the tuition, too. How about teaching you about photography and marketing and branding. And letting you use my studio and my tens of thousands of dollars of equipment for your own projects. Or listening with excitement when you dropped by to tell me about your new Famous Friends and were excited about who else had sat on Their Toilet!!

Who was the sidekick? Not you. Definitely not you.

You chose to be alone, so be alone. I’m done with crying.