Just when I feel like I am strong, just when I feel like I am over it, over him, my mind is assaulted with memories. Rapid fire visuals of moments spent with him scroll through my brain and there is no switch for me to turn off this automatic reel of our relationship that continuously plays and plays. I close my eyes and try to think of pleasant thoughts, of a recent sunrise or sunset, of a show that made me laugh, or even a chore that I have to accomplish. I try to think of anything so that I may forget, but the harder I try to escape, the memories of him shoot at me more quickly, piercing me in my chest and in my heart.
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The intrusive thoughts are hard to evade, and once I am hit, it deploys itself all over my body. Memories are like poison, flowing through my bloodstream, infecting every part of me. I hold myself and brace my stomach, as though I am preparing to be kicked in my abdomen. I lick my lips and taste the bitterness of how our relationship ended. I become thirsty and drink water, but it is never enough to drown out my longing for what could have been, how it should have been. I swim in my thoughts instead and though not enough to drown, it is just enough that I am left gasping for air to fill my lungs.
The memories burn. As I replay past times in my head, my skin feels like it is on fire, but I am shivering. I hate myself for pining for someone who did not exist. I long for the version of him that I had hoped he would become, not the person who he really was.
I do not want to say I “hate” being asked, but it can become awkward when I am asked how many siblings I have. My sister has been gone for over twenty years now, and I still am triggered whenever I am asked. Do I tell them that I have two? But then they may ask where they live and what their professions are. Then I will have to say that one passed away. Things then become awkward and some start to apologize profusely. Some even ask how long it has been, and when I say that it has been over twenty years, some will shrug as if to indicate that it has been long enough.
Or do I just say one and leave it at that? But then I feel as though I am forgetting about my sister, and she deserves to be recognized as my sibling even though she is no longer here.
It is amazing how a simple question can be so complicated to answer.
Yes, it has been over twenty years since my sister passed away. I suppose one can argue that I should be “over” her death. And yes, in many ways, I am “over it” in that I do not cry every day anymore. And I may not even miss her every day anymore, but I do miss her, in a way that maybe one would miss their limb if it was amputated. I am sure that as time passes by, a car accident victim would get “over” losing their limb in an accident, but would they wish that they could have their limb back, if at all possible? I say, absolutely, yes.
Even though I no longer miss her every day, I actually miss her more. I miss her more whenever I see my parents growing older, on holidays when the lack of her presence is glaring, on her birthday, on the anniversary of the day she passed away, and most especially when I want to talk to someone who was a part of my childhood and who I had expected to be with me to the very end of my own life.
Billy Bob Thornton talked of his feelings about losing his brother. I echo everything he said:
“I’ve only had a couple of times in my life when I was carefree… For a couple of years I felt OK, which is very rare for me, and then he died. I’ve never trusted happiness since.”
“I have to really force myself to think that things are going to be OK in terms of worrying about my family, myself or one of my friends. I’ve never been the same since my brother died. There’s a melancholy in me that never goes away. I’m 50 percent happy and 50 percent sad at any given moment.”
“I don’t want to forget what it felt like when he died, because he deserves [that remembrance]. That’s how important he was to me. So, if I have to suffer and I have to be sad for the rest of my life, and if I have to be lonely without him… then that’s the way I honor him.”
“I’ll be sad and melancholy about that forever. I know it and I accept it and I live with it, but I think it’s OK. I think it’s OK to have all those feelings.”
“As an artist, that’s where a lot of your stuff comes from. You keep honoring those people forever by singing that song or writing that movie or doing that part in the movie or writing a book, whatever it is that has a sadness and a melancholy and a fear in it. Those are the things that keep them alive — whatever you put into your work or your family or your art.”
“It’s so hard to forget pain, but it’s even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.” ~ Chuck Palahniuk, Diary
Through the grace of God, we seemingly have survived the worst of G’s teen years. It was not that long ago that I was on the verge of a mental collapse. Coming out of that stormy phase, I feel like a survivor. I actually see some sun in my life and in her life, and the dark clouds that hung over us are becoming thinner and thinner.
I now have time to focus on the little things in life, such as challenging my newly found skill of keeping plants alive.
These plants are what I have to show to reflect this peaceful period of my life. I have no relationship to stress over, no immediate financial or health concerns, G is improving daily – in essence, everything for which I prayed to God, He gave to me. My plants are a reflection of my current state: growth and serenity. I wonder now if my plants never survived before because my energy was troubled, dark, and dismal. Did my plants absorb the toxic beams that I emitted? I believe so.
It is Lent Season, and what I have decided for my Lent journey is to try to forgive and to let go of the negative and toxic feelings that I hold inside of me. I have a Lenten journal, and everyday or so, I write down my thoughts about my day and about how my feelings and actions that day correlate to my faith. Now that I can read my thoughts and see them on paper, I can be accountable for my movements. I am more aware of whether I did really try to be more understanding towards others, and other days, it can be a rude awakening to read about how much of a jerk I was that day and it then becomes a lesson as to how to improve the next time I am faced with a similar challenge.
Reading through my journal, I realize how short-tempered I am and how very little patience I actually have towards certain people. Not to excuse myself of this faulty trait, but I do live in New York City, and this place, this city, just exudes impatience. It is almost as though one cannot live here and be patient because the city just runs on its own timeline. Everything happens in a New York minute. Unless you live here, it is hard to understand that the city cannot run unless things just keep on moving. I, for better or for worse, have adapted to this mentality. New York may be the only place in the world where if someone commits suicide by jumping in front of a train, the people are angry at the person who jumped and will say “What an asshole. They couldn’t kill themself in another way?!Now I am going to be late for work!” I also have come to believe that the jumper is selfish, but not for the reason one may think. I think they are selfish because of the trauma and pain caused to the train operator. I can imagine that they will never be the same after such a tragic event.
I am working hard on my patience, but admittedly, it has been challenging. My first inclination is to resort to the New York attitude and feel exasperation whenever I feel like someone is impinging on my time. I pray and meditate on this often and hopefully I will see some improvement as I work through this with God’s help.
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