Sometimes I feel this compulsion to write, like I don’t really know what the subject needs to be but I know that the words need to leave my mind.
When I have particularly emotionally turbulent times it drags up feelings of the past, emotions mimic those of times before.
My life now is pretty average, fairly normal and I guess that’s all I’ve ever wanted. But in reality it’s not really that normal because of everything that sits in my subconscious on a day to day basis.
Throughout my entire childhood I remember funeral after funeral of various family members, it became so normal that I found it weird when people said they had never been to a funeral at age 23, when I’d been to 20+. Almost enough for one a year.
I made a joke the other day that half of the black dresses in my wardrobe were bought for funerals, but they actually were.
It’s a weird feeling, knowing that the memories in your mind of certain people are just that now, that’s all you’ve got. I don’t even have that many photos of pre 23 because of having to leave my entire life behind to start again.
Trying to live life as an adult is hard enough without being thrust into that moment before you’re ready when you’re barely even out of your teens but society gives you a grace period before they forget the shitty hand you’ve been dealt and you’re expected to “move on”, “time will heal” etc.
There’s this odd limbo when you’re 5 years deep into losing someone and you’re well incorporated back into society, back to work, back to socialising, people don’t feel scared to mention said person incase you cry, everything’s just normal.
But again, it’s not. And I know, I know, there isn’t such a thing as normal. But sometimes my heart aches for it, my heart aches to feel that unconditional love of someone who isn’t my boyfriend, my friends, kind people who reach out to me via my work etc. I know that sounds awful but it’s hard to explain unless you don’t have parents. When you have that safety net, emotionally, physically, materialistically, you always feel that invisible shield around you, like nothing can touch you because you’ve always got your family to fall back on.
You read those quotes about how it’s okay because family will always be there. Well sometimes they just aren’t, and that’s hard.
It’s even harder when you want to talk about it, scream about it, cry about it and you hear all the cliche responses of “I’m your family”, “Blood’s not thicker than water” etc – which in fact isn’t even correct as the right saying is that “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb” thus meaning that the bonds you choose are stronger than the ones you are thrust into. I guess I need to listen to those cliches but for fear of sounding ungrateful, those words can feel so empty. After five years of falling back into that pain, feeling overwhelmed with guilt that you can’t “move on”, can’t “get over it” but then flowing seamlessly back into days when actually things are okay, you DO have a family, a new one you’re creating. The sun shines again, the cliche words plug the wounds like a plaster over a broken arm and you move forward again.
You find motivation, your brain ripples with excitement like a leaf falling onto a calm stream and the world keeps turning.
Suddenly things are okay again, they are just so.
You make new memories, you battle your mind on a daily basis to force yourself to leave the house, to take up new hobbies, to better yourself, to learn and grow and succeed.
And some days it works, some weeks it doesn’t.
The saddest and best thing about life is that it doesn’t last forever.
Who would want to keep going forever, we’d lose that will to live, because you wouldn’t need it anymore. The saddest thing is not actually that WE don’t live forever, but that those we love don’t, and it hurts.
Sometimes I sit there and the loneliness in my soul feels like a confusing mess of words in my mind, like I don’t really understand how to explain this cavern of emptiness inside me.
When people meet me, on the surface I seem so, well, me. I don’t really know what that is, but if you know me, you do.
Little do they know that I’m holding myself together 99.9999% of the day.
Hearing people complain about their families, argue about materialistic things, wish for more money, it hurts. Conversations like “what do you want to do most in the world if you had all the money”. Well there is nothing. You’d probably call “lies!” at this point, but I have worked hard for where I need to be, what I wish for in the whole world money cannot buy, time cannot achieve and my soul will never feel again.
There isn’t much of a point to this, I sometimes just find that writing makes the world make sense. It gives it a little bit more order, like these formations we call letters create words to create sentences to express our thoughts from a brain inside our skulls. It’s like a process, the turmoil comes from inside our bodies and when it spills onto paper it’s like poison being drawn out of a mosquito bite, the pain is still there but the cause is out of you.
Death is such a taboo thing to write about, when I speak about it in person some people get very confused at how to react. My friends are used to my dark humour now and I can keep memories alive by making sure those around me aren’t afraid to bring up those who have gone, but why does it still feel so shameful to bring it up? Almost like we are attention seeking, of which I still don’t understand why it’s a negative term.
If we are hungry, someone feeds us, if we are upset we receive comfort, so why if we need attention are we made to feel shame?
I digress, death is not scary. Life after death is scary. It is sad, it is lonely and it’s exhausting, it’s accepting that you’re allowed to be happy and laugh and have fun, you’re allowed to make jokes and talk about memories. It’s scary that you hurt so much, but then it’s scarier when you sit and realise you haven’t though about them in a few days because so much time has passed. It’s scary when you forget their voice, but then one day you remember their laugh and it’s like a blanket is wrapped around you.
It’s waking up this morning to find a white feather in the middle of the living room even though you cleaned last night and the windows are closed, which fills you with comfort but then reminds you that they aren’t there.
It’s scary to be the girl that everyone thinks is really strong, when I am, but what I wouldn’t give to just see my Daddy one more time.
Growing up is hard to do.