Needy Lips
I live pretty co-dependent on my family. Metaphorically, I am a child still suckling on my mother’s breast. Physically, I am a haggler. One too shy, too introverted, and way too shameful to actually haggle my family out of their hard-earned cash, so I am haggler only in name. Being inside of my house reminds me of my co-dependency.
I’m trying to learn to cook. I know how to use a frying pan and when the bone marrow I set to sear a little more is burnt. I know how to use a stove and how to cut foil paper and that parchment paper is most definitely better with the little lines that guide where you should place your cookie dough. I know how to ferment with vinegar and wine and blood, but that the latter is tedious and wasteful but it’s fun to see the sheen of a blueberry turned pink.
Is that enough to cook myself a meal? Is that enough to sustain one’s being?
Being inside my home reminds me that I am not the independent woman I like to sometimes pretend I am. I’m just a family-centred, gamer, writer and creator that will go outside if necessary. Like the stereotype of a sun-repulsed vampire. I shut my blinds in and layer my black curtains to grab a couple of hours of sleep inside the coffin.
Co-dependency feels grainy. It feels childish.
I have much more questionable answers in what my future lies. It’s like the fog outside of my house. It looms so thickly that even the light post ahead of you is blurry. The traffic lights are fireflies on an unfocused camera. The trees are shadowy giants and cars coming over the hills are the sun rising on a new day. I can barely make out what’s in my tomorrow, but I cannot see thirty metres ahead of a road I’ve walked nearly every day.
In that lack of future, I latch back onto the breast of the present and let me co-dependency suck every drop of milk. It’s painful, because goal-setting and future-setting are so important, but I keep suckling because it’s easy and gives me a peace of mind.
Isn’t that what we’re all striving for? Peace and quiet in our highway minds?
My peace of mind laid in an envelope given to me by a teacher for an event I participated in. For just a second, the envelope dispelled everything about my co-dependency.
Money. Money. A decent amount for someone who doesn’t buy anything.
Seeing the cash gave me a warm feeling in my chest, like I drank tea that was hot enough to wrap its arms around my still heart and not hurt my tongue.
I think, from that day onwards, heading to school in Downtown Yonindale is an independent action. One that makes me have agency over me. One that makes me feel like all the other adults working at the highrise buildings or the local coffee shops. I am an adult, who can use her own money.
Although I do stick to a budget for dinner, I have gotten much better at budgeting overall. I know how much things cost and how much to save or to use for a quick snack. I know that certain places, like malls, can be more expensive in their food costs, but also allow me much better quality food when going home. I know what is too heavy on my tiny stomach and what won’t fill it.
This small amount of cash has made me feel like someone actually living. Making decisions. Even if it’s just the decision of what bus to take when the train stations shut down on a whim. Even if it’s the decision of what to eat for dinner. The decisions have freed my lungs and lips from the constriction of suckling on that tit of the present.
I am still co-dependent on basically everything when I am inside my home. But the moment I get outside, the air shivers the co-dependency out and fills it with agency. That’s why I love walking to the bus stop. I can dance and wave my arms as necessary without the blind judgement at home.
I think life should be less about throwing people out to the deep end and hoping they’ll swim. If they’re like me, they’d drown without a question. Train people to swim and they will. Let people feel the open waters before pushing them onto a sinking boat. Let people realize that if your world calls for co-dependency, get onto the wheel of life with your life jacket and throw yourself into the adult pool. Allow it to be. It makes the independent moments solid gold.
— Heleza
