The Story of Me.

I have thought about this a lot. I allude to alot on this blog. I sing my woe-is-me's, but never really tell you why I am wallowing. I whine that I am struggling, yet don't tell you the depths of those struggles. Do I have to tell you? No, I don't. Do I want to…honestly? I don't really know. But the thing is, I put myself out there every time that I write. For me, this blog is more than a blog, it is a journal that happens to be public. it is an incredible outlet for me. I have a difficult time not putting my all out there. not because I love the world knowing my business, but because that is simply who I am. that's just how I roll. open book = me.

Yet I haven't been fully open here. As I said, I allude, and then crack a joke and go on my merry way. But the truth is I am going through a very difficult time. and because of my being an open book, it is difficult for me to carry on as if I am a-ok. because I am not. so why try to convince you? I have thought and thought and thought about this. I discussed it with the hubster, who, by the way, is SO not a fan of my open book policy šŸ™‚ There are a couple of blogs on my blog roll that are deep. they are heavy with emotion. there is one that shares an incredible life story that brings tears to my eyes when I think of all that the writer has been through. And I found that when I am finished reading these blogs, I somehow feel comforted. I feel less alone. I am reminded that life is not always pretty and wrapped up perfectly. and that that is OK. So I figured, what the hell. My goal this new year is to let go. For me, part of letting go means just accepting that my story is what it is. Is is no better or worse than anyone else's. It is mine. Oftentimes it hurts, currently, it hurts alot, but that is simply because I am aggrevating it. I allowed it to sit dormant and fester within me. And now I am poking and prodding it, and that is a painful process. But I know that once that process is through, I will feel better than I have felt in a very long time.

So let me preface this with stating that I am not writing anything for sympathy, for advice, for a pat on the back, etc. I am writing to release a demon. I am writing because it is a small step in my process of letting go. I am writing because sometimes, that is the only thing I can do.

from A Seperate Peace by John Knowles

"Everyone has a moment in history which belongs particularly to him. It is the moment when his emotions achieve their most powerful sway over him, and afterward when you say to this person "the world today" or "life" or "reality" he will assume you mean this moment, even if it fifty years past."

I read this quote while reading the book for a school assignment. The moment I read it I knew exactly what it meant. It made such complete and perfect sense to me. I knew it would stay with me forever.

My moment in history was when my brother commited suicide. Plain and simple.

The short of it- we grew up hating each other. With a passion. We took sibling rivalry and multiplied it by pi. It was not a pretty relationship. He tried to hurt me, a lot. He tried to choke me. He threw me down the stairs. I have a small scar on my forehead where he threw a chunk of metal at my face. And then, we went to highschool (due to him being held back in grade school, we were in the same grade for what feels like always). And something sloooooowly changed. We didn't hate each other so much. I learned to love my brother, and I like to think that he learned to love me.

And then on that cool May morning, I learned to hate him all over again. I hated him for ruining my life. For taking his. For not thinking. For not having the mind to realize that it would be me that would be walking into that bedroom, like I did every single other morning, to wake him up.The night before, he broke into my father's house, stole a gun, came home and in the middle of the night shot himself in the head. And. I. Found. Him.

That is my trauma. My struggle. My demon. The mess my brother left behind, both literally and figuratively.

That was almost 14 years ago. And here I sit, just now confronting it. Because I apparently have some kick ass avoidance skills. I dealt with it by not dealing with it. I vowed from that first day that I would never discuss the events of that morning with anyone. And I didn't. I kept it all to myself. And let it slowly destroy me from the inside out. I struggled through these past 14 years…mostly in the first few years. then I moved, got my life together, so I thought, and happily ever after.

Until about a year and a half ago. Then my world slowly started falling apart. Aparently my walls I built could no longer handle the pressure that was pushing on them. Suddenly, I was having flashbacks. While doing dishes, working, driving to the store. I would suddenly be transported back to that morning, to all I saw, to the screams. I couldn't concentrate. I felt like I was losing myself. I thought long and hard about the decision my 16 year-old self made, vowing to never allow another person into that moment. And I realized that if I stuck to that decision, I would lose my mind. So I made the call I dreaded making. I called the only person I could trust this memory with, and of all people. that was my marriage counselor. And so every week, we dig around in this old wound. Before the first visit, when I knew there was no avoiding the fact that I would have to talk about it all, I cried all day off and on. I was terrified. I started re-thinking this choice. I tried to convince myself that I could rebuild those walls, and make it all go away. I tried to convince myself that I didn't need to go and do this. That it wasn't really as bad as I thought it was. That I didn't need help in this journey.

And then reality smacked me in the face. Of course I needed the help. Of course rebuilding the walls was not an option. I was having flashbacks dammit. I just want to do my shopping in peace thankyouverymuch. I do not want to keep living a haunted life. So I go. I rebel at times. I attempt to avoid talking about the things that really hurt. There are things I can't remember, and I fight to keep those memories forgotten. But I know that the more I remember, the more I can put it all behind me. I struggle with attempting to mourn my brother…something that I never properly did. I struggle with facing all that a suicide loss brings. I have a lot of anger. And just plain hurt. I was having an email discussion with a friend whose sister commited suicide last year, and I typed the following words: "It is a strange loss that we suffer. It is not just that someone has died; someone left us, on purpose". For years I struggled with why my loss is so very diferent from any other, and just like that, in an amail, my answer spilled out of me, as if it was hiding there all along. I just never understood it until now.

There are days that I just get plain old sad. Not over the trauma and how it has affected me and haunted me. I get sad for my brother. For the boy that didn't think that there was any other way. That had so many personal demons. That was so troubled and misunderstood and yet so sweet. I get sad for me. For not having my brother. For the memories that I will never have of him. I get sad when I see brothers and sisters together. jealous and angry too. I get confused when I am asked if I have any brothers or sisters- after all of these years, I have still not figured out how to answer this question.

And so….that is my story, in a very small nutshell. That is what is floating around in my head, in my dreams, what complicates my life…and makes me who I am.


2 Comments to “The Story of Me.”

  1. I would love to be able to write something that takes away all the hurt… all the pain… all the heartache. You’ve been through so much. I like what is up on Daily Dave right now… “I will go in this way, And find my own way out”… I think you are doing just that. Finding your own way through something that probably feels like a dense jungle of confusion, tears, and more. Finding your own way out… always sounds easier than it is. ((hugs)) xo

  2. I wish that my arms were longer or that you were closer….huge hugs to you.

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