I used to pray, I wasn’t sure who I was praying to, but I always made a note that I was thankful, so grateful for my family’s health, I knew I was lucky, I knew it was precious and important. Now I’m grateful when she has good days, when she doesn’t get worse, but I miss that pure feeling of relief that my family was well, that that heart wrenching tragedy was not mine, I think I knew it would come at some point; and it did. I miss hanging out with my mum, I miss calling her whenever I wanted, I miss being excited and over the top, I miss being silly and crazy with her, I miss calling her to moan because I lost my keys or my temper. I miss falling back and having her catch me, I know she still would but I’d crush her, it’s my turn to be the strong one now. I miss popping over for dinner, I miss being selfish and not even realising. I miss seeing her whenever I want and I miss calling her everyday. Sometimes I feel guilty that I’m fine, that I’m carrying on, that the rest of my life is making me happier than ever, other times there is a sickening pit in my stomach and it creeps up behind my eyes making them prickle with tears, my breaths get deeper and I feel the sadness in my bones. I worry this is forever, when I wallow I worry that I’m a selfish fool for worrying when in time she will get better. I feel guilty I’m not there for my dad, but what it means to be there for my dad makes me tense up and I can’t stand it. I want her better, I want her better for me so I can feel like her child again, for my dad so he can feel whole before he breaks, for my sister who hasn’t had the chance to learn how lucky we are to have her and for my mum and her kind and firey soul before it becomes crushed by this cocoon.
Sad, but numb and sad, not restless and sad. I was sad about Abby and Mum and Grandpa and Rachel and Trump and helpless animals and children with no one to love them. I was sad about everything and nothing at all. Today I feel something like a sadness hangover, with tears just behind my eyes and my stomach feels funny like I forgot something and I can’t put my finger on what it is.
I’ve been trying to write, and I’ve been getting frustrated. I’m happy, I have nothing to write about. I need to write lyrics for a song, I hate everything that comes out of my head, I never realised how proud I am of my misery. I re-read every sad thing from every horrendous and painful moment I have documented, nothing. Everything I put on paper sounds generic and dull, who knew being blissfully content was so unproductive.
There are certain things that should just never be left unsaid; I like you, I love you, I want to call you my girlfriend, your breath smells bad, you’ve got cum on your face. Not everything has to be expressed like a leaf falling from a tree in a Thomas Hardy classic, but it’s useful to get these pieces of information out into the physical world, they are more useful there than as musings in your head.