I have a lot of problems. It's kind of plain and simple to me as the days pass and go on and I watch from afar all of the things that I wish could be, but it's not that way in reality. I wouldn't say a lot of problems, actually, but obviously one big one. And that one big problem branches itself out and radiates out into all these other little things that always go wrong. I've wanted to do so much, but I just don't have the capacity to hold it all inside me. I've always looked at myself as an optimist, but now I always see myself, or thing to myself rather, that I'm changing that way I look at things. I'm not changing exactly, but just my views are taking a slightly different direction than I would have expected them to go in the first place.
I always wanted to be that person. I wanted to be the one person that would always see the beauty in things. In anything I looked at, I would always try and decipher what could possibly be nice about it, but now I'm finding that I just don't care. I'm feeling way too depressed for an optimistic person, so how could I possibly still be considered one if I don't meet the criteria? I've had ups and downs, but never anything that feels this serious. I have this feeling that there's something wrong with me. I feel like I'm unwillingly changing. I don't want to and I don't want to make it of notice, but that doesn't slow the process any second shorter. I don't even know what I'm changing into and that's what scares the fuck out me. How can I cope with something I don't understand, or better yet, something I don't want to happen?
Well that's easy. I deal. Always have and always will. I fucking deal and take whatever happens with hardly any questions. Actually, I try not to question it. I think that although questions are supposed to be the perfect way to gain knowledge, they show weakness. But who am I kidding? I'm the weakest person I see when I look at everyone around me. I feel so vulnerable and that all my problems are written all over me for everyone to read as they pass me by. I feel like with every glance or with every odd gesture, someone's making some kind of advance that I'm not aware of.
I've never understood all of the things I've seen, nor do I really want to sometimes. I don't want to understand why my mom died right in front of my eyes and I don't want to understand why people forget about so many important things. I don't want to know why there is such utter discord and disregard for innocent feelings of other people and I don't know how in the midst of this fucked up life that I've tried to bandage together, everything still manages to fall apart. I'm not a fucking masonry for Christ's sake. I'm just trying to do the best I can and apparently it's not working out too well.
For months I've thought that I just need to have a really good talk with someone. Just vent about everything and rant and rave and get angry and cry and just let everything flow out of me while having someone else absorb it, trying their best to empathize with me. But I have yet to find anyone who is willing to step up to the challenge. But you know, never mind. I've actually just realized for some while that that's not what I want anymore. I don't want to talk about my feelings. I always thought that it would make me feel better and this incredible weight would just get lifted up and off of my shoulders and I would feel a world of good surround and embrace me, but I don't think that anymore. Not now. I don't think anyone can help. They can try, but it's not going to do anything.
I find myself just sitting around and my mind always goes to one specific thing. I've been thinking about my mom so much lately. I've been thinking about when she died and how everyone told me I was a little trooper for everything I'd been through. I've been closing my eyes and seeing her right in front of me; the last memory I have of her right before she left. I keep seeing her in that hospital bed and she's hooked up to all of these wires. I didn't know what they did, I still don't know, but I assumed they would be helping her. I guess they didn't do their job correctly. But I remember everything perfectly with uncanny visual dynamics. I remember seeing her bald head from all the chemo-therapy chemicals. All the radiation shit they injected into her with some hope that she would get better. Her hair was just starting to grow back too.
And her right arm was rendered totally immobile. It filled up with fluid and turned purple, almost like there were bruises everywhere. Nothing had happened, she didn't hit it or anything for there to be a reason for internal bleeding, but I guess her circulation was shutting down in that area. She couldn't talk anymore. That's what I missed when I was standing there next to her. I stood on her left side because I didn't want to look at her now non-circulating right arm. It was too scary for me. To think that was something that scared me compared to the gravity of more important things going on simultaneously. But her voice was always something that calmed me. That and her touch. It was so soft. She could hardly even move her head side-to-side, let alone the rest of her body. When I touched her, I couldn't feel her warmth. Everything was gone. She hadn't held on to anything. She was leaving and she knew it. She didn't hold on to any of that warmth she always had. Why should she? There wasn't any point. So what was the point for me still hoping for anything? None. There wasn't any at all.
The worst part was to look into her eyes. There was nothing left of them. She had really pretty, clear blue eyes. The irises were so vibrant against the ebony white and charcoal pupils. There used to be so much freedom in them. I would look into them when I was really little and just always know that everything would be okay. I would find reassurance for everything and all I needed for that was to look into the trusting eyes of my mother, but the blue was dull and faded. It didn't stand out against the once ebony white that had now turned to a blunt yellow. All the light had left every inch and corner of her soul and it was the most unbearable feeling. She knew there wasn't any more that could be done. She knew she'd lost and couldn't stand any more of a chance at getting a step closer to the idea of winning at that point. She was dying and it was her last moments. What more could anyone else do but let her go? The pain to let go was the most struggling idea I've ever had to deal with. I'm still going through it emotionally. Obviously it's out of my hands physically. There was no stopping that, but emotionally...I can't.
That's the image that I'm haunted with every single time I close my eyes. I can't peacefully drift into dreams of fantasy or desire or any of that. There's nothing I wouldn't do to have just one more chance to look into her eyes again. But the more I think about something like that ever happening, the more insane I think I am. I want it, but I don't. And the only reason I say that is as much of the idea of how wonderful it would be for something like that to ever worldly happen, saying goodbye for the second time would be so much harder that I would ever imagine. It's like you can't have something that has such an enormous price on it for a lesser bargain, you know? You have to give more than what you have in exchange for something that may not last as long, but it seems well worth it at the time.
I'm never going to ever say that I'm going to try to forget because the memories that I have are all that I am. And I can't give up either because that's where I get my strength. I can't have one without the other. It's like the bargain thing again except it's working in the opposite way now. I have to stick with the bad memories to have everything better, but I'd want everything better to hinder them. But still I have nothing to give. I'm an empty person with nothing to offer anyone. Who wants that? I don't understand any of it.
I used to love laying in the grass at night and watching all of the starts twinkle. I would always want my mom to come outside with me and see it for herself, but she never did. So I would always find myself falling into the grass alone and losing myself in the blackness of night. I don't do that anymore. My grass is dead too. I haven't done it in years. It's as if everything died along with everything I loved. I would just lay out in my front yard on my hill. I have this hill with a big, massive pine tree on top of it. I would go out and lay right under the tree so I was laying on the slope. It would feel like the perfect recliner for staring up at the stars. But there seem to be less and less stars in the sky visible to my eyes. I don't know if that's just me or horrible pollution erasing all the the natural beauty of the world, but regardless of the earthly problems, everything has its time. Everything dies and sometimes, as I've notice so diligently, most of the best things about life seem to die simultaneously. And then they're gone.
