Words from an Insomniac still trying to find her way

Posts tagged “letters

In the Background is Where I Learn to Live, at the Forefront is where I Learn to Give.

IMG_2187Dear You,

Welcome to me…to this lifetime of weak metaphoric bones and 267 days of teary eyes. I warned you from the beginning, didn’t I? I brought forth my promise of commitment with my long list of conditions. Conditions such as aching for the baby sister who only had four hours of “why me?”, or the younger brother who thought killing himself was the better side to see. Conditions such as my loneliness which creeps in the night, and my fear of never waking up again once I turn out the light.  You haven’t forgotten the best part, have you? You know, the part where the depths of my melancholy wash over me like tsunamis in the sky. This is me…this is we…and we haven’t had the promising chance to even try. In this life of mine, I chose to drift towards your life preserve, thinking you were the one who was going to save me. Some days I think I’m still at sea, dog paddling my way through life, with you always close by.

I remember the first time you took hold of my hand when a fresh coat of grief washed upon me, and I let you in, without a moment’s hesitation. Was I being selfish, allowing you to see the real mirror image of my soul, my existence? Should I have let you stay away, without any explanation, any “Dear John” letter? You have lost several years that you’ll never get back. I can’t promise that you’ll be able to hang on to any more in the future. In the end, all I’ll have to give is the “I tried” line.  In the end that is all it will ever be; a failed try. But know, I did try.

When I look at your silent peace, your heaven-sent release, if only in your sleep, I am happy for you. I think it is here, in my absence, that you truly find happiness. In the deep corners of your subconscious you are alive, ready to take on the reality of what could’ve been. It is in your inner solitude that I am most jealous. How can one be jealous of something that could never be reached? Be a part of? But it’s there, poking it’s angry saddened little head through the locked door of your mind. You lay there, angelic and weightless, not thinking of a thing. This is where the metaphoric hamster in your brain takes a breather, where the ocean meets dry land. You are calm and care-free. And I am jealous of everything I’ve just seen.

I live in a world where my hamster never sleeps, where fear loves to creep and the thought of drifting away and never returning becomes the welcome mat of anxiety at my minds’ front door.  I never chose what was behind curtain number four. I only wanted #1 because it’s more than likely better odds. Who stole my life from me? Who wished eternal tears and hard twisting heart rhythms to lay at my feet? I’ve landed the bonus where I even cry in my sleep. Who wished this for me? How I long for the nights of sweet vivid dreams brought on by exhaustion of long hours counting sheep.

Regardless of the outcome, this is the reality. And even in my tantrums, I have learned to accept the hand dealt to me. I gave up on self-pity and self-destruction, and leaned more towards the spontaneous crying and itchy blanket called loneliness. This is me…this is we; the mirror looking back at the mess which becomes me. Nowadays, I tend to cry when you aren’t around. When the music is deep and therapeutic, when the movie strangles my heart with both hands; this is my relief. Do you get it? I’m giving you a break. I’m letting you off the hook, here’s a freebie on me. This is one thing you’ll never understand…that this me, it is not you. You can have the rest; like my playfulness and crazy nonsense. You get the loving ways and the part of my heart that beats for you. I’ve swallowed the key to the other room. Don’t ask for it back.

I didn’t grasp it the first time, you know, the uncomfortable feeling of what to do when I couldn’t stop crying and feeling so bleak. But you’re better off, and I know that now. This is something I must deal with without the company of awkward silences and uncomfortable movements. The darkness does eventually end, and the new sunrise becomes a welcome home sign; even if short-lived. I’m comfortable in this accepting skin. I take the good without taking it for granted while I take the bad at face value. 

I live in the numbness of a never-ending dream where nothing pleasant happens in the end. I wait excitedly for the surprise gift of a wonderful day, whether in a song or the way you look at me, and I relish in the love that gives me a temporary fix. You have always been my drug of choice. The darkened clouds and bitter shadows; they will continue to live, just now I keep them in the deeper end. I’ve wanted you and all that you freely possess . My baggage was clear and will be till the end. I’ve wanted you and not the choice to keep on running. I just can’t get rid of the closet filled with sorrow and disappointing sentiment. Please remember to read your faithful contract. Look for the signature at the dotted line. Remember these images when it’s time for me to unravel all of my despair with the lights turned off and the music keeping the poison at bay. Remember there will always be better days. 

love,

~me~

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I no longer carry the burdens of sisterly love

      I can never be a mother. Not because I’m a bad person or unfit. I can just never be a mother. I don’t think I’d be able to handle the bad days. It would be so difficult to give everything I am to this someone who might hate me in the end. Someone that wished I was dead because I grounded them, or because I took away their prize possessions.

I wouldn’t be able to handle rejection, and I am jealous that it rolls off the backs of others. Knowing that I took care of this someone, whom I labored for hours and it not meaning anything in the end, that would be worse than death itself. 

       It’s bad enough that I cried for you Gina as you sat in your stroller, terribly sick. I rocked you back and forth because that was the only way you could sleep, crying and praying to God to make you better. It’s bad enough I would eat the food you couldn’t or drink the fluids you wouldn’t while grandma was yelling at you to do it. If I had known you’d grow up unappreciative of my sisterly love and care, I never would’ve come back your senior year. I would’ve continued trying to find my own way in this small world.

      The truth is that I do have you in my life now but it has become so difficult. I wasted years of my life in the depths of guilt trips and anguish. I blamed myself for not being there for you, for not getting you out and into a better environment. (how could I when I wasn’t in one myself)? I tried to make it up to you when you were a senior in high school. I thought if I helped you improve your knowledge and self-confidence then maybe you wouldn’t think less of me for leaving. I couldn’t have been more wrong. You fed off my guilt and played me so to speak. Who am I kidding, you did exactly that.  

      I gave you all of my love, argued with those around me who spoke ill of you. You looked the other way. I tried; impatiently to help you with your schoolwork, to speak with your teachers. Our grandparents raised you and now, with grandma gone, I felt it was up to me to step in. I couldn’t count on mom because she left us out in the rain, and I couldn’t count on our sisters because they had families of their own. I had no one and nothing in front of me so I had plenty of time. 

      In the end you didn’t care. Your answer to everything was and still is “I don’t know.” What kind of b.s. is that? Why can’t you read a simple book Gina? Why is it so hard to listen to me, to your teachers? Each question answered by a simple uncaring “I don’t know.” I hated the fact that I couldn’t get you to love yourself, to make you believe you were better than anyone said you were (and you still are). I hated arguing with you while you believed in their lies, living with the notion that you were stupid. 

     I love you with all of my life, my being, and you can’t even understand the simplicity of it. That in itself is so hard to deal with and I’m not even your mother. I live each day knowing that you ran in the arms of the first boy who would take you without running to us first. You got pregnant for every wrong and idiotic reason you could think of. You turned your back on us in the end and yet I’m still here, trying to show you how loved you are. If this isn’t motherly instincts than I don’t know what is.

       I will no longer take it. I shouldn’t have to. Imagine if this was a mother/daughter role. This would devastate me even more. This would break my heart in more ways than you could ever fathom. What is so hard about letting people in and accepting their love? Why can’t you be grateful that you have people who love you and want to be there for you? I’ve always believed in you. You never tried and that hurts worse than you not caring about me. You gave up on yourself for stupid selfish reasons and you dragged me along for the ride. I feel stupid and pissed off. If I was a mother I’d probably give up and lock the door to my heart, swallowing the key. 

 As a sister, I feel like doing just that. It was easy for you, why shouldn’t it be for me?

       This is why I choose not to be a mother. To live with pain and anguish from someone as selfish and uncaring, someone who can only think of themselves unless they are in trouble or afraid, why suffer through it? My heart was never meant to take the pain. My heart was meant to pump love and forgiveness, safety and strength. Having to hear “I hate you!” for the stupidest of things makes me want to throw up. It’s true, you’ve never said that to me, but then again, you’ve never said anything less than “I don’t know” or anything meaningful to me and that is worse. 

      A mother is strong and can take the punches. I wasn’t meant for that. A mother is willing to sacrifice, no matter the cost, to protect her son or daughter. I would sacrifice too much. I am done trying and you’re only my sister. For once, maybe you should ask our mother why she didn’t feel like playing a part in our lives. I’m done asking.