Mourning A Future That Was Never Mine

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 Hi ladies, gentlemen, and gender non-conforming friendos.


It's me, your friendly neighbourhood garbage witch back today with some slightly tepid to slightly lukewarm takes depending on your alignment.

From the title you've probably surmised that the topic on my mind today is "Mourning a future that was never mine" but what does that mean? Glad you asked.

Mourning a future that was never mine feels kind of like trying to grab something that was never there or to describe a taste you've never tasted.

Growing up, I was told to work hard and good things will happen as I'm sure most millennials were. The dream was to own a house! My parents owned a house (albeit briefly), and it was expected that I do the same... eventually. 

The problem is that I can't own a house, don't get me wrong I WANT to own a house, I just cannot. And it won't be in the cards for me in the future. 

I'm also in this weird conundrum where I have to break a terrible cycle of family cycles and heal generational trauma. All of this burden on lil ol' me. 

And I'm fucking mourning this future I'll never have of white picket fences and houses and house wives and a 9-5 job and consumerism and polluting the world without caring about the consequences. This cheery sunshine world that was painted by my parents with promises of "hard work and elbow grease" and was torn down by the stark reality of my mother's bipolar disorder and my step-father's narcissism and my chronic depression, crushing social anxiety, and the post traumatic stress disorder that living with them for 22 years left me with.

This world is not kind, this world will not leave you unscathed, some of us get hurt more than others.

Be safe in your travels and mourn your lost futures because knowing what could've been is a sweet sort of torture. 

Maybe I'll mourn a future where I could fly, who knows what is possible in lost futures?

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