Moving On (A story of a diary)

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Moving On (Story of a Diary)




“Move on, move on, you’ve got to move on” This is what my mom kept saying to me every time I would get fixated on something.  Something could be anything.  Stuff that happened to me at school good or bad doesn’t matter.  But I would come home and tell my mom all about it.  She would listen and smile or not smile get serious and try to give me advice, but I didn’t want advice.  I just wanted her to listen.


Going back to getting fixated on things, this is definitely something I would get fixated on:  my mom’s attention.   I needed to see that when I tell her things she is listening, I would really jump in front of her to make sure that her eyes reflect attention to what I was saying.  I would get so upset if I would see an absent minded look on her face or find her texting on the phone to someone and even though she was physically present with me, she just wasn’t there. 


If only she would stop doing that.  Doesn’t she understand that by not listening to me this is how I get fixated on things?  So I would repeat the same story like 5 times after every sentence asking “Mom are you listening” at first she would reassure me and then she would just get so frustrated.  She would raise her voice and say:  “Yes honey I am listening to you, but you are repeating the same thing ten times”  “Move on, you’ve got to move on”  so I moved on only in a little while to come back to the same topic again and then she would yell and say: “If you repeat yourself one more time I will not answer any of your questions anymore” I would start to cry and cross my arms in the sign of protest and then she would smile and hug me and say I am sorry honey, but it’s just very annoying.


But at that point it wouldn’t matter, because now in my head I would think that she doesn’t care and I couldn’t get rid of these thoughts.  If only I could have someone to listen to me all the time and be there. 


I also got fixated on events that were about to happen, such as taking a test, or doing something for the first time.  I just couldn’t let go.  I would keep repeating how nervous I am, and at first she would comfort me but then again she would lose her patience and say:  “You are a big girl, you can’t keep dwelling on this,  move on and get over it, things will be just fine”.  But I just couldn’t move on, I just couldn’t.  I knew that I would not be content until I could talk my heart out to someone without them getting so easily mad at me.


So I found a person.  My grandma, who lived with us for so many years and who now, was someone with a severe memory loss, was completely unaware of her surroundings, so she would just sit on the bed staring into space and not talk to anyone, but just sit there.


At first I loved it.  I would come to her room sit there and talk about anything I wanted and got fixated on. I could repeat myself all I want because no one would interrupt me or get angry with me, also I knew that she pretty much didn’t have much thoughts of her own, so I was her only performer, and I was content with it for a while, but then I wanted an acknowledgement from her just like I wanted from my mom, that I am being listened to and no one is ignoring me.  


I couldn’t understand why it bothers everyone when I get fixated on things when they are so important to me.   My mom kept trying to teach me and explain to me that it will make things a lot easier if I stop taking things so seriously and once something happens whether it’s good or bad to talk about it learn from it and move on.   I love my mom very much for it still hurt so much when she would teach that to me because it made me feel that she doesn’t care. 


My mom and I would go to a lot of places together, and one time when we came home she gave me a pretty notebook with princesses on the cover and said:  “Hey honey why don’t you try writing things that you learned, or things that happened to you during the day”  at first I was very eager because it was something new to do, but then when I wrote things in it my mom started correcting spelling mistakes and fixing my sentences and then she wanted me to rewrite things correctly.  So I immediately stopped liking it.   I put it away and never looked at it again, until last week when my mom picked me up from school and we were walking home and this is the new school that I started going to because we just moved and I was bursting with things I wanted to tell her and the whole story repeated all over again,  I got fixated on something that happened at school it was something that made me cry because one of the kids was mean to me,  and my mom listened and cheered me up and hugged me but still I couldn’t let go and I kept looking into her eyes to see and make sure if she was still listening and she got frustrated and told me to move on but I just couldn’t.   So when we came home.  I took a piece of paper and started drawing geometrical shapes, like squares, angels anything that has angles in it not the circular shapes,  my mom taught me a neat trick she said that whenever I am angry drawing geometrical shapes with angles helps the anger go away and hide in the corners, and you know it really helps, so I was doing that and then in one of the boxes I found that notebook with princesses on it,  so I took it and started writing that story that made me so frustrated at school and the one that I just couldn’t let go off, and guess what?  After writing the whole thing out,  I just wanted to let it go, and not come back to it anymore so I wanted to “Move On” .  I guess maybe it has to do with the fact that its tiring to write the same thing out many times, while it’s not so difficult to repeat it verbally, so now I just write, this became my diary and I called it Tabatha, it became my friend and I tell it everything I want to and now I am not getting angry with my mom anymore for not wanting to listen to the same thing 200 times, I just write it out once and “Move On”.   And guess what?  I love it. 




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