Holiday Blues and a Fuck You!

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Fuck you, I’m not going to be sad this Christmas.  I’m not.  I’m not going to be depressed, I’m not going to battle the holiday blues.  Hello Christmas, it’s your friendly neighborhood atheist, and I’m full of Christmas cheer.  Most of the time, I get kind of depressed during the holiday season.  Not this year!  This is a big Fuck Off to Holiday Blues.

Usually around Christmas I miss people.  I miss my mother, my last happy memories of her were around Christmas.  She died in January, so usually I get real wrapped up in the last Christmas we had together.  I miss my friends I’ve lost, all suicides and all in the fall/holiday season.  Even as I would try to enjoy what I have now, I would get sucked into the past and sucked down into depression.

Not this year.  It’s not happening.  I’ve spent a lot of years mourning, and while there were happy moments over the years, I spent too much of my time in a funk.  This year is different.  While I’m still remembering those whom I have lost, I’m refusing to dwell on it.  There’s too much to celebrate this year, there is too much to enjoy and I refuse to dwell on people who are no longer here, and focus on the loved ones I do have.

I am excited for this year, I’m excited to give everyone their gifts, I’m jumping out of my skin.  I can’t wait until Christmas morning so Nood can open her gifts!  I think I’m more excited than she is!  Hell, I’m just excited to hang out with my kid all week.  I took this week off of work (by accident really, I needed to use up my vacation time… I’d rather take time off in the summer so we can do outdoors stuff), so I have 7 more days to spend with my monkey.  Then, of course we have New Years coming up.  I don’t have many resolutions (just to quit smoking), I’m just looking forward to starting the year off on the right foot.

So depression, this is my farewell.  I have plenty of winter to deal with you, just not right now.  Fuck you Holiday Blues, and Happy Holidays to everyone!

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I can’t convince you. (Possible Trigger Warning)

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I can’t convince you that you don’t want to die.  I can’t.  If you really want to die, you will, and nothing I say will be able to stop you.  You know what will stop you?  Yourself.  That’s it.  You have to make that decision, I can’t make it for you.  It’s pretty obvious that I want you to continue living, if you haven’t figured that out yet, than you haven’t been paying attention.  I love you, and I love you for many reasons, as do many other people along the way.  I’m sure that they don’t want you to die, but again, they don’t have a choice.  They never do.  It’s all up to you to die, or even, to live.

I can’t convince you that dying isn’t worth it.  Trust me it’s not, but I know pain, and I know pain can convince you that it is.  What’s a bit of physical pain on top of the pain you’re already living with?  I can’t explain that there are things that make life worth it, that there are things that are worth living through this hell for.  That sometimes the rain is worth it, or a dog, or maybe your family.  You won’t believe me when I tell you that those fleeting moments of happiness are worth all of the turmoil.  How can I explain that every tear is worth shedding just for that moment of happiness?  That moment you feel love?  Maybe you’ll understand that living is worth it just for a spring breeze?  Maybe it’s that cup of coffee on a cold night, or maybe it’s a notebook and a pen?  I can’t explain it, because you won’t listen.

I know you won’t believe that life gets better.  You can’t see it, you can’t see the future, and I can’t predict it.  I can tell you a million and three times, and you won’t believe me.  You won’t keep on living because I’m holding your hand, or because I’m here or because everyone else is here.  If you don’t live for the rare moment of happiness, there isn’t a point to living.  If you don’t believe that it’s worth it, you won’t try.  It doesn’t matter that life is indeed worth sticking around for, because you won’t listen.  I can sit in your car and tell you all the reasons you should stay, I can pull on your jacket, I can cry.  I can scream at you for hours, and if you don’t want to, you won’t listen.

I can’t convince you that you don’t want to die.  I can’t convince you that all of us want you to live.  Listen to me just this once though, let me tell you how it feels.  Not death, because I haven’t experienced it, even when I, myself screamed for life to end just to escape the pain.  I begged for life to cease, but it didn’t.  So I can’t tell you how death feels.  I can only tell you what suicide makes everyone else feel.

Have you ever held someone’s little sister, just to hear her sob out the details of her brother’s face as he hung from the rafters?  Have you ever held a mother who doesn’t understand why she couldn’t save her son?  She doesn’t understand why I couldn’t either, I was your friend, how could I have not seen?!  Do you know what it feels like to know that the back of her head is missing, so we can’t have an open casket funeral?  Do you know what it’s like to know that her brain matter stained the wall?  Have you tried to look a father in the eye after his eldest son took too many pills on purpose even though his toddler was in the same room?  Have you tried to console the child whose mother decided that he wasn’t worth living for?  Have you listened to the teenaged daughter talk about how maybe if she had just come home at curfew, just a few more times, maybe maybe maybe Dad wouldn’t have killed himself?  Have you struggled to live, to fight against all of the pain, all of the hurt, just to watch someone give up everything?  I can’t explain the pain, I can’t explain the deep ache that I feel in my chest as I remember watching the casket rolling away.  I can’t.

Besides.  I can’t convince you that you want to continue on, I can’t convince you that it’s worth it, I can’t convince you that I, we, love you enough.  I can’t.  Because you quit.  Now, all we all have left is a patch of brown grass, and a piece of rock that supposed to symbolize everything that was you.  Do you know what we have left of you?  Memories.  Memories, and pain.

I couldn’t convince you.  None of us could.

 

 

1-800-273-8255
Need Help?  Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

What Family Means and Blood Brings Troubles

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I’m aware that I’ve touched on this subject before, if not numerous times, but I need to get these words out of my head and into the world. 

Family to me isn’t as traditional as most.  Of course I have my immediate family; my Dad, Sister, Step Sister and Brother and step Mom, not to mention my daughter.  However, short of a couple cousins (whom I adore), a handful of friends replaces my extended family.  That’s just the way it is, there is no regret, dislike or anything else, it just worked out like that.  As kids my sister and I were never real close with my Dad’s side of the family, and once my Mom passed away her side of the family kind of drifted off (as did us kids).

During all of this, I met several great people who looked after me.  A couple of my friend’s moms are 2nd, 3rd and 4th moms to me, as well as random friends who have known me for years.  These people slowly became what I considered family.  There was no blood involved, just friendships that developed over time, and because of that, we spent time together when we wanted to see each other instead of at obligatory family functions.

That is what family is to me.

Some of you know  I have a “half-sister”.  My mother had a baby when she was in her late teen years, and instead of becoming a teen-aged mother she gave her daughter up for adoption.  My “half-sister” is 16 years older than me and apparently lives down south (I thought North, but whatever.)  I’ve only met her once in person, and I was too young to remember.

When she was in her twenties (late teens?) , she found us (through an aunt of mine I believe) and began to contact my parents.  I honestly don’t know my mother’s true opinion of it, but my first memory of her isn’t pleasant.  Lets just go ahead and say that the year before and after my mother passed, my half sister didn’t exactly make it easy on us.  (Think Dad unplugging the phone at 2am when we’re getting drunk-dialed-screamed at from another state, while cancer-ridden-mother tries to sleep.) After she blew off my mom’s funeral she disappeared again for about 7 years.

She surfaced again when I was 18 ( thanks to the same aunt – also the same aunt who blabbed to my Dad that I was pregnant with Noodle – Seeing a pattern here?) and called me.  This time it was to talk about how the fact that she was adopted, that my mother chose to let two wonderful people raise her was the reason she had a drug problem.  She then berated me for choosing to give my own son up for adoption, and then asked to live with me.

After that conversation, fast forward another 4 years or so and she resurfaces.  This time she’s pregnant and needs advice on adoption.  Oy.

Now apparently she’s straightened her life out.  Facebook allowed her to find me and my younger sister, and after almost a year, things finally went south.

[ My sister and I, especially I, have never pursued a relationship with her.   Yes, she is blood related, but we also have never met her (where we can remember) and only know her by the warpath she left behind.  Being friends with her on Facebook made me uncomfortable, it’s hard to talk to someone who expects a full relationship out of you when you’ve never met, much less have nothing but blood in common.  I didn’t mind a few jabs here and there and a “like” on a photo, but beyond that I shied away from it.]

Today she messaged me… again.  This time she asked if she should continue to attempt a relationship with my sister and I.  I was honest.  I told her that I didn’t see a point, that we could most definitely keep in touch via social networking but beyond that I couldn’t see a relationship developing and that I wasn’t really interested in working on one.  I told her my views on family and encouraged her to appreciate her loving parents and her own daughter and friends.

The response I got back set me off.  She resorted back to what she always did.  Her Bio family means so much to her, and when Mom died, it hurt her real bad.  – Excuse me while I try not to get mad again –

Yeah.  You know what?  ’97 may have been a long time ago, but it’s still pretty damn fresh to me.  I have absolutely no sympathy.  There is a huge difference between losing a bio-mom whom you met once (and then ditched the funeral for – as well as both grandparents funerals) while you’re in your twenties… and losing the Mom who you saw every-single-fucking-day when you’re in 5th and 3rd grade.  Big-fucking-difference.  It would be different if she hadn’t spent years in a drug-induced stupor, harassing me and more importantly harassing my mom when she was dying.  It would be different if she didn’t wait until she was in her 40s to try and nurture a relationship.  But it’s not.  That’s the way it is, and that’s the way it’s going to be.

I promptly told her what I wrote above ^^, as well as the fact that she shouldn’t go around digging up 16 year old graves to make herself happy.  I wished her well and again encouraged her to appreciate her own family and friends and that I didn’t want to dig up aforementioned grave again.  Then I promptly un-friended her and blocked her.

Maybe I should have had a little compassion, maybe I should have handled it better.  Truthfully?  I don’t care.  I lost all compassion for the situation years ago when I was berated for the same choice she later made.  I lost that compassion when she blamed putting drugs up her nose on my mother (which FYI : No one forced you to do drugs!).  I don’t care.

I’m glad it’s finally done, I hope that’s the last tie I have to cut.  It took me 26 years to divorce myself from her, and I wish it happened earlier.  She needs to move on, she needs to love her own family and nurture the relationships she’s taking for granted.  She needs to realize that we don’t know her, and we don’t want to get to know her.  We’ve been trying to heal the best we can, fix our own issues and problems, and speaking for myself, I cannot take on hers too, again.  I’ve been spending the last couple of years eliminating negativity from my life, and that was one of the relationships I put off getting rid of.

I forgive her for the person she used to be.  But forgiveness isn’t for her, it’s for me, it’s letting myself move on, and get on with my life.  I don’t want to be reminded of what she put my family through and what horrible emotion she invoked.  I forgive her for what she did and has done, but that doesn’t mean I want to be best friends.  I want to be done.

 

 

Family is not blood.  Family is love and caring.  Family is made of the people that stand by you day in and day out.  Family is made of people who love each other, not for their own gain, but just because.