comfort

 I was about to call my mom. But then I stopped myself. My mom doesn't have any answers, and I already know what she will say when I tell her how I've been feeling lately. I know that what she will say is not what I would like to hear, and far from making me feel better, I'll just end up much more anxious and stressed out. 

Then, why do I insist in looking for comfort on my mother's words? Why after all these years, whenever I'm feeling this way, the first thing that pops into my mind is calling her, if I know I'll just feel much more worse? Why is there still hope on me to find comfort in my mom?

I trust her, and I know she has the best intentions always (or most of the time) with what she does and says. But she never gets me, not really, and I don't think she ever will or even that she wants, and that's okay. She doesn't have to be interested in my life, it's mine, not hers. She's not obliged to be there for me, nor to empathize. Actually, nobody is. 

Then why is it so difficult to make my subconscious actually understand that I'm alone, always have been, always will be, and that's fine –that's the way it is. 

Nobody cares, why would they? Why should they? Everybody's busy with their lives, and that's fine