I've been hesitating to write down my feelings regarding these last few months. Mainly because it's like unpacking something you've been trying to put away, and living through it all over again, intentionally. Although, it would happen either way so I suppose choosing to write is giving me some control over the inevitable flood of emotion. There's no feeling more terrible than grief and I've had my heart shattered on numerous occasions. I'd choose that agony over this emptiness.
The unexpectedness is, I think, the hardest pill to swallow. There's no preparation, no closure, and so many questions. There's the guilt for all the things I didn't do, didn't say, or didn't ask. Guilt clinging to the moments where I'm trying to feel normal because it isn't fair that I get to be here and he doesn't. Someone who was so Loved by so many, despite his long term struggle for balance and security. He's remembered for the way he made people feel, and all the times he showed up to rescue people in need. Yet, he died alone in a city that was foreign to him, after months of fighting for help, and only just before he was supposed to return to the town he knew and Loved to be amongst his beloved community.
What does it say about me that in a city where I know literally hundreds, I've spent the last few years feeling deeply alone? I never developed the gift for relationships that he had, and I think it was largely because he never let his pain show. You knew him for his smile. And here I sit, feeling like nobody has seen my true smile in ages. I joke that my closest friends are introverts, but it is mostly true. This year I was actually invited to a Halloween party, the first party anyone has mentioned to me in years, and that night was the only night I've felt remotely alive since we lost him.
The eve of October 1st was spend blissfully consuming a pizza from the comfort of my couch. It was supposed to be my last pizza for a while because I'd planned to start working with a personal trainer that following week. I desperately need activity in my life. That pizza was the last meal I enjoyed, and while I was enjoying it, my brother was dying alone in a room he had to be out of in 2 weeks. As if my relationship with food wasn't strained enough, knowing that his eating habits were a huge contributing factor in his death has only amplified the already lingering concerns I have for my own weight. The week and a half that followed his death was so busy with arrangements and clouded in shock that food just seemed tedious. I've never enjoyed it less, and at times I needed to walk myself through the process of chewing just to get it down. So many things have felt joyless in the wake of his transition to the next life.
Dozens have reached out to me to express their condolences, and many have asked if there's anything I need. How do you know what you need in times like this? I hardly know who I am right now. What's the point in existence? Where am I even going? What do I want? One friend was generous enough to cook for me after I returned from that dreadful week in MI. I haven't been too good at cooking for myself lately. I'm not really inspired. Maybe inspiration is what I need? I haven't followed up with the trainer I was going to hire. Maybe motivation is what I need? I've been thinking maybe now is the time I formally and finally seek out therapy, because maybe it will ground me and help me to find connection again? I really don't know. I feel like someone entirely new, someone who barely exists at all.
This year has really assaulted me. It's been, without question, the worst year of my life. I've been silent about most of it, at least most of what I've been going through. In April my brother was hospitalized for the same reasons that ultimately ended his life. We almost lost him then. He was scared and alone, as my parents had moved to NC in March, and that shift was a huge catalyst in the downward spiral that became the last few months of his life. None of us could be there with him, though we were in touch as much as possible. He got through it and was set up with a cpap machine to help his breathing. I think we all reminded him when we spoke the importance of wearing it. He wasn't when he passed, and I'll never know why.
In early August, my Daddy underwent an emergency triple bypass. If he hadn't recognized and acted on the symptoms, we likely would have lost him within the month. He could have been out on a trail with my mom, in one of the many areas with no cell reception and we'd all be irrevocably devastated. Thankfully that didn't happen, and the week following his surgery my sister was scheduled for a long visit so we were able to be with him during his recovery, to assist and support where needed. Next to grief, there's nothing that tugs harder on your heart than seeing your beloved parent frail and clinging to the task of healing, despite the pain and exhaustion that follows such an experience. If my Daddy hadn't had that surgery when he did, we might have lost him sooner, and if he'd held on this long, the death of my brother may very well have been the death of him. It's heavy. It's absolute emotional fuckery. And it's where I've been living for most of this year.
This years traumas have put me in a strange and concerning place, mentally. I feel like I hardly have any friends left to lean on. And I'm shite at making new ones. I'm so thankful for those that have showed up and held space for me despite no knowing what to say or do, it has helped me remain somewhat sane. However, this year and the last, have really woken me up to just how deflated my interpersonal bubble has become
Being disregarded in my darkest time by some that I hold so dear, the blatant rejection I've felt when in desperate need of connection, it's hard to quantify just how much that has amplified the ache in my chest. The feeling that so many of my relationships have faded away, whilst the few that remain are mere shadows of their most glorious days.
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