Withering, Reminiscing
Found this in my notes. August 13, 2020 at 10:10AM
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I really did go through some bullshit.
It’s been so traumatic and still, I have yet to realize that I’ve been so hurt. It’s hard to think that it actually happened - that I’m actually going through it. My parents died. I had to return their car. I had to move out of our home. I had to throw away almost everything that had sentimental value.
I look up at the sky and it’s so blue. The clouds are like marshmallows - like separated cotton. I can imagine my mom and dad laughing from above. But then I can also imagine my mom coming through my door in my new home. She’s wearing her usual raggedy, purple shirt with her baggy pants on. She’s come to make fun of me and snoop in on what I’m doing. I laugh at the face she’s making…only to be interrupted by the rude reality of it all.
I’m withering. I don’t feel like a person anymore. I feel like an empty vessel here on earth. I yearn for my future in heaven. I want to get out of here. I want someone to put me out of my misery. I ask cars to run me over everyday.
I think about my brother. My poor baby brother. I would never want to hurt him. If I die, I’ll do just that. Hurt him even more. How selfish of me if I were to die. The pain never goes away - it just gets transferred to the next person.
In the hospital, I wrote a poem. It was about how hot the summer was, and how cool it gets at night. We would sit in front of the metal door and feel the breeze, while mom finished washing the dishes. She would bring us cut fruit so we could all enjoy in silence. I don’t know if my parents got to read it. My mom received it, but my dad didn’t. The day I sent it was the day that he got sedated. He was always the one to applaud and love my writing. It felt like someone put salt in my wounds after cutting me open.
I’m tired of it all.
No one understands my pain. Sometimes I think that not even my brother can understand. My parents and I knew what it meant to have each other. We always thanked each other for being alive - for me taking care of them, for them taking care of me. But I wasn’t enough to be their savior.
Being alive is like a light. It can be switched off at anytime. Your life is not yours to control. You have absolutely no power to know when you’ll die. Someone greater than you has the power to turn that switch on and off.
I don’t know why it came to me as such a surprise - even now. People die. It happens and it will happen eventually to you too. I guess it was the love that felt like it was robbed from me. What a wretched thing…that love. It gives you so much happiness but so much pain at the same time.
I miss them so much. I miss how I woke up everyday to go to the clinic with my dad. We always went to Dunkin’ Donuts for a coffee and then went to work. I miss how I slept next to my mommy and I would give her a hug at the end of the day just to scrunch my face because her face lotion smelled too perfume-y.
I miss how they would come to my room for the AC on super hot summer nights, and brush the hair off my face with their hands, while I put my head in their lap.
Now I have to just imagine it.
I wish I could go back and savor all the times I had with them again. Especially the times that I took for granted.
