Suicide Is Never The Answer.

So, I started this post with some lofty ideas and some emotional disturbances, but then I began typing it out - and none of it made sense (outside of myself - and even I was having a hard time deciphering). Instead of trying to sound it out in a soft blanket of dictation, I'm just going to address that which is uncomfortable - and socially unacceptable to discuss aloud.

But I have to discuss it, regularly. Because it has happened to me, to my family.

I'm talking about suicide - the secret that isn't so secretive anymore these days. We're groomed to shy away from the term; the concept is unbearable to think about, therefore we don't discuss it.

However, I am a suicide survivor.

This does not mean that I, myself, have attempted to commit suicide and survived the attempt. Instead, this phrase refers to the fact that I have survived a loved one who has committed suicide.

My father left us in June, and it is the hardest thing in the world to be the ones that are left behind - abandoned by someone that they loved so dearly.

It is not fair, it is not logical. I wont sugarcoat that. I cant say that everyone experiences this sort of event the same - on the contrary, even within my own family, we've all been trying to deal with the loss of my dad differently. No two people grieve in the same way - so don't let anyone tell you differently.

And really, this is not a topic that I rush to discuss, but I cant get the words out of myself verbally, so perhaps this is a venue in which I can try to unleash some of my confusion, resentment and outright rage.

I have shied away from talking about my dad in the past few months, because I imagine that if I talk about him like he's gone, then it makes it all the more real to admit that he really is gone. And I get so angry to think that he's never going to walk through the door covered in mud (he was a dry waller, so I mean that sort of mud) and dust.

It's even more complicated because I'm not an outright emotional person - at least, in expressing them. I feel things to an acute degree, but generally reserve emotional outbursts for the quiet solitude of my bedroom, or some other secluded spot. It worries people in my family, which is a just assumption - and perhaps I'm not dealing with this in the healthiest manner, but I am trying.

Every day is lived moment to moment, breath to breath.

It's exhausting to just exist, but add in a full course load, a part time job and the stress of ensuring that my mom is doing okay - and you get the heaviest stupor imaginable.

I have made some time for me - I went to a Seether concert in August, I just attended the Renaissances Festival last weekend, and I try to read my favourite blogs for an uplifting twist to my week.

I feel scrambled most of the time (something resembling this entire blog post, actually). And, of course, I still have to deal with new disappointments, endings, beginnings and pains that, while incomparable, only compile upon the constant stream of stress that I live within.

I really have strayed away from my original message for this post - but I'm not sorry that I did, sometimes all that is needed is talking (verbally or nonverbally is really not that important).

The main thing is: no one is alone - because there is always someone out there willing to listen. So please, if you learn nothing else from this rambling mess, please take away from this the message that you are not alone.

If you are feeling like you want to hurt yourself or are contemplating suicide, please call your local crisis center, because you are not alone in this.

Loss.

So, it's been months (literally) since I've blogged. I would say I apologize, but I'm not at all sorry for the intervening months.

On June 16, 2010 my dad passed away.

I really haven't come to terms with that, nor do I think I can really comprehend that it really happened.

I don't want to abandon my original goal for this blog however - to really get to a place, internally, where I'm happy with myself.

Obviously, this has set me backwards - pushed me backwards is probably more accurate. - But more than that, it's like my entire world (and the world that every member of my family belongs to) has been plunged into darkness. I cannot honestly say I wake up glad to "just be alive" every morning - some days are more difficult, while others are almost bearable.

I do know that I'm glad I am alive, because he isn't. He can't experience the warmth of the sun, the wet of the rain, or the cold of the wind anymore. It's hard to even wrap my head around. It doesn't make sense, none of this does - nothing that has happened in the past few months has any rhyme, or reason.

I can't change what happened. There really is nothing else to do, but endure, survive, live.

So that's my message today: Live.

Live now, because you don't always have as much time as you imagine.

Heat, cemeteries and hoses.

I think my tolerance to heat has gone down, dramatically.

My parents, my nieces and I went to the cemeteries yesterday to put flowers on everyone's graves - which alone, is fine. But it was nearing the 90 degree weather from hell. That coupled with two kids under the age of 6 makes life a little suckfestish.

Livy (3, youngest) is very intolerant of heat, so she was being carried by this point - because the little plastic wagon was not good enough to lay in. Obviously. And Emma (5, eldest) is a whiner, who finds fault in all things - even if she is the one that dictated it. They're both adorable, generally well-behaved kids, but sheesh - can they whine.

Also, unlike my sister and I - who went to the cemeteries every year - these two were unfamiliar with the custom of not walking on or kicking headstones. I nearly melted with embarrassment/over-heat-ment (?) by the time we left. I'm pretty sure some long-deceased people did a 180 in their graves yesterday. Awesome. I really hope I don't get haunted because of this.

At least it was time to tan and relax after those exhausting three hours (was it only three hours? it felt like a whole day). Of course, my nieces are in love with the hose - and they sprayed everyone in the face at least once.

Always a nice treat when you're on a chair, eyes closed, stretched out like a cat.

So, here's to hoping no ghosts show up and possess my body and/or do me mass amounts of damage over the whole grave-disrespects. Sorry dead people? ...yeah.

Parents, homesickness and suffocating love.

Home sweet home.

Right.

Well, I've made it home for the big superficially 'religious' Easter celebrations (i.e. a four day weekend woo!). I thought it'd at least take years, if ever, to get over the homesickness when I'm away. But you know what? I now feel claustrophobic at home. I know they don't mean to suffocate me, but parents are just always there when you're home.

They're like that piece of furniture that you're almost certain you had put outside to be picked up by the garbage man (even if they keep telling you the city doesn't take old furniture). Somehow, it's crept back into your living room with all the audacity of a tacky orange ottoman.

Not that you hate that ottoman. In fact, that particular ottoman reminds you of all your good childhood moments, and makes you feel safe and protected. But it really doesn't match anything you own anymore, and it can be such an eyesore - the way it looks in the big picture just doesn't suit your everyday needs anymore.

But maybe you could keep it around; revamp it with a new fabric - help it try to fit in, even if the style is so out of date that it's practically obsolete.

Yeah, it's sort of nice to have it around - I mean, it keeps you grounded. And that's a feeling that can be easily lost in a world where you're just another fresh (haggard) faced student in a sea of forty other similar faces. Sometimes you just need that old ottoman to remind you of your roots - and to remind you of just how far you've really come.

Suffocation doesn't sound so bad, not when you know it's suffocation by love.

Mini-meltdowns, judgements and lessons learned

So I'm having a mini-meltdown - the first one in several weeks, which is probably a huge step forward for me - but man, can a few words really bring a girl down.

And this really teaches one about talking to their loved ones, for sure.

You know, I wasn't the most morally obligated teenager - so what? Who doesn't have regrets from that time in their lives? I have plenty. Plenty. And yes, I dressed a little risqué. My tops were low, and I was proud to show off what I had - who doesn't do that in high school? But you know what? I grew up. Ta-da. It happens, and for once I wish that I got some credit for doing so. I'm not running around practically falling out of my tops anymore, nor am I so desperate for attention - I'm just trying to live a life, my life. And for gods sake, I wish that my family would just get on board and stop bringing up the past. I am not that girl anymore, I'm not even a shadow of that girl.

I'm growing, I'm evolving - just like everyone else. So why is it that they can acknowledge everyone else's changes, but mine?

I know that this was kind of a ranting/pathetic/ridiculous post, but so be it. I'm a little emotionally unstable right now, thanks mom.

Lesson: Nobody should have the right to judge you based on the person you were years ago, the person you no longer resemble inside (and to some extent, outside).

And when they do - cry, get pissed and angry-blog. It's actually pretty relieving.

Friends, family and semi-useless knowledge.

So I was trying to come up with a super, trendy "cool" post earlier - and guess what happened? Nothing. Well, okay, I did write some stuff - some really crappy stuff, but it was writing still, right?

Anywho, I saw the most beautiful sunset last night while I was traveling back from home. It was unnaturally pink. Most likely because I was still wearing my sunglasses. You'd think someone would have told me it wasn't bright anymore. No one did, because they obviously knew the sunset would be prettier for me in pink. Thoughtful. Presumptive, but thoughtful.

Which leads me to more important things (well, the sun is super important...). I just want to address some exemplary things in my life, and show that while it doesn't always seem like I care, that I do - and I don't want to take all of it for granted all the time - just you know, when I'm being human and careless.

For me, in my life, I've got my (limited) cache of friends, my (dysfunctional) family and of course, my mass of (semi-useless) knowledge. These are the things that I think are most important to me - because I need those specific people in my life. Those are the dear souls who keep me from permanently floating off into the never-never-land in the recesses of my chaotic mind - and trust me, you don't want to vacation in that black hole. And, Knowledge, you mysterious minx, you keep me on my toes and ready for battle. I thank all the pretty green things on the plant that education has been available to me throughout my life, because honestly it's a precious gift. And when it comes to people who want to remain completely ignorant of everything in life, I just want to jump off a cliff. Preferably with sharp rocks or something beneath them (I don't want to suffer). It just kills me that people take the journey for knowledge for granted all the damned time - and yes, I do blame you and your ignorance for homicidally trying to kill me as well (so knock it off).

(I didn't want to jump, you made me.)

So, to the cosmos, I tip my glass in your honour for dealing me a starting hand consisting of a family that, while obnoxious and often defective, has been my rock and guiding light through all the pitfalls and hailstorms. And thank the stars that my friends have stuck by me, because I've been a real bitch to every single one of them at some point or another - and by gods, it's surprising they've not run far, far away from this mess. I know I would have. They're a tough lot.

So, here's to being thankful for what you've got in life.