Happy Mother's Day

“A daughter without her mother is a woman broken. It is a loss that turns to arthritis and settles deep into her bones. ”

― Kristin Hannah, Summer Island

Things I Hate

"I know I can't ever complain to you about anything because your life is so much worse than mine."


"Wow, now I feel so much better about my own life."


"You're kidding, right? You're not? Oh. Um. So, nice weather today. Um. Hey, I should get going."


"So you're seeing a psychiatrist, right?"


"Wow, you should really talk to someone."


"I thought you told me it was a car accident? Really, you didn't? Are you sure?"


"So is your brother seeing a psychiatrist?"


"You and your brother should talk to someone."


"I'm so frustrated, I could kill someone! Oh--! Oh, sorry! Sorry! I didn't mean that!"


"Wait, so BOTH of your parents are dead?"


"Your brother's dead too?"


"Yeah, you did mention how they died. It was a car accident, right?"


"Wow, I would never have guessed. You seem so normal."


"Really? But you're coping so well. Are you sure that's what happened?"


"Oh. I feel a little sick now."


"Oh my God! Well, I'm really glad that that would never happen with MY family."


"So when was the traffic accident?"


"Oh my God, now I can't believe I've been complaining to you all this time about MY little problems."


Every single one was actually said to me, in those words. Imagine three years of it. It's become so predictable, so tiring, and a little ridiculous.

I opened up to a couple of my newer friends yesterday, and I was preemptive: "Let me guess, you thought it was a car accident?"

"...Well...yeah."

What a surprise.

Feb 26

♥♥♥ Happy Birthday My Daddy ♥♥♥

I hope you're in a world of unending magic.

I miss you every moment of every day.

My Little Brother?

I turn 23 tomorrow. You were 23 when you died.

You taught me so much. You protected me so often. You always made me laugh - except when you were making me cry. I know how much pride you took in being my big brother - and I hope you know how much pride I've always taken in having you as my big brother.

The thought of you frozen in time at 23 --
The thought that I've just about caught up with you--
It makes me feel ill. Physically ill.
It's wrong.
It was never supposed to be like this.

How can it be that, one day, I'll look in the mirror and see an old woman -- and you'll still, forever, have the face of a young man?

I miss you.

Someday I'm gonna be older than you
I've never thought beyond that time
I've never imagined the pictures of that life
For now I will try to live for you and for me
I will try to live with love, with dreams,
and forever with tears

-Tears, X-Japan

Burdens

I'm beginning to realize that I carry the weight of my tragedy with me. I haul it around like it's my duty, my burden to bear. There's something in me that feels I was given a set of responsibilities along with it: protect the names of my lost ones; correct people's misconceptions about mental health and suicide; quash the stereotypes of how I should have turned out; and, of course, act as gatekeeper to the story itself. Each of these I am passionate about - but none of these are my duties. I should be able to do all of the above as I want, when I want - but I should not carry the burden of them.

Perhaps, in the first handful of months, they were my duties. My family's names really were under constant attack. People were making dangerous conclusions about the 'why' of the event. I was treated unfairly by my peers and community, and was a target of gossip. And I learned very rapidly in those months that the interactions I could expect to have with people were very much dependent on what and when they knew about my family. We were on lockdown. It was a response that was trained into me when I was vulnerable and impressionable.

And I haven't been able to let go. I've come to terms with the event itself; that's been the case for a while now. The weight I continue to carry and which continues to oppress me is the cage that the media assault forced me into.

I do not want this burden anymore. I need to find a way to let it go.

Always.

Regrets

It hurts so much and so often because, for the life of me, I cannot find enough good memories to outweigh my unbearable load of regrets.