I felt slightly sick from the peanut butter. I was worrying again. She worried me. Her lack of support worried me. Or perhaps scared me would be a better way of describing it. I wanted to be independent; I always had been. It was just that there are times when we all need some support from our family. It seemed to me that mine was non-existant. The only support I felt I had was from 2 little boys who weren’t even teenagers yet. I knew that if I wanted a hug, that’s where I could get it from. I knew that whatever it was that I needed; they would give it, if they could. That was the void-sometimes you need things that they simply just couldn’t give. My parents had never been too good on the giving front as far as emotional support went. They sucked. Not a proper adjective I know; but there really was no other way to put it. They just really did suck...it was a waste of time and a waste of hope. It had only left me feeling let down. It was a cycle; a vicious circle. It always went the same; I would try, fail, and then swear I wasn’t going to rely on them for anything ever again. But then time would pass, and id try again. Then Id fail again, and that’s when I remembered why I never should have bothered, and I would remember the promise I made myself last time; and id make it again. I wondered when id learn. I noticed that I was learning, but it was a slow process. Although I still asked sometimes; the times were becoming less and less frequent, and farther apart. I was still doing it though. Still asking. I had done it again, and once more I had sworn that I was going to give up on them, my expectations of them, and be myself, by myself, for myself. I was going to do everything in my power to never, ever need them, ever again. I always hoped it would work out, and my objectives were always the same. Grow up, lean on myself. Someone I know once said to me “The only person you can trust is yourself.” I had agreed, but underneath I had thought it was rubbish. Now I think shes the wisest person I have ever met. She followed this comment, saying “Don’t be self-destructive, Sarah. It’s a slippery slope.” I hadn’t really knew what she meant. Or understand what she was trying to say to me; her implications. I understood the first part; not to be self-destructive, but the second part was something I still fail to understand. That was the one thing my parents had always intervened in; the final straw. It was a class A attention grabber. When it came to the crunch, they had always stepped in. It was just the fact that to force them into being there, I had to push myself incredibly far. I was a runner, in many senses of the word. I wanted to run in pretty much every situation. When I was bored, I always wanted to go for a run, no matter how bad my shin splints were; I would still go. In a bad situation, I always wanted to just turn and run away. I had done before. Another thing; when I did reach the crunch point; the final straw, I was always bombarded with questions from them. Stupid questions. Do I have a drug addiction? Have I taken coke in the last 24 hours? Am I pregnant? Have I had an abortion? Have I dropped out of Uni? Although they never said it, I always knew there was a silent “yet” on the end of each of their questions. It was just de-moralising. I have always believed/known that they underestimate me; massively. But then with that thought, I undermined myself. If that was true, and they were oblivious to my potential and my intelligence, then why do I repeatedly let myself down with expectations they never meet? Am I the one who fails to understand the situation? I didn’t think that was the case. Maybe I am deluded though; my parents had always said that was what I do best.