23 April 2009

This is not my tragedy.

A friend's dad passed away. I'm going home for the funeral. You know you're grown up when it takes a death to bring you back to the people that have mattered most to you. I want college back. When all that mattered was ways to avoid doing homework. When homework was an excuse to get out of anything. When life understood that you had something that needed to get done. But we're older now. I don't have a real job but I guess this is real life.

I don't have much to say on the matter. I knew Tom. He was a good man, as far as I knew. His death is not my tragedy. The pain his death causes is partly my burden to carry only because it is carried by people I care so deeply for. I wish I could carry more of it. I wish I could do more for you.

I think I broke the wings off that little song bird.

If life's taught me anything it's that nothing is ever how you expect it to be. Nothing. We make things better or worse in our heads. To cope. That space inside our heads is what keeps us standing. That space inside our (cheese alert) hearts that we let people into is what keeps us going. It's the reason I haven't stopped trusting people even though I've been given ample reason to do so. I'm sure most people have. But we do what we can.

I've spent a lot of my life teaching myself to stop feeling. I stopped doing that. This whole feeling thing sucks. But I think it's better. Not feeling was my coping method. My cousin has been dead for nine years as of Monday. Nine years is a long time. I only let myself begin to acknowledge a loss about four years ago. It's what I needed to do. And then I learned that with a support system, I could deal with things right away, relatively. But I still don't know how to ask for help. I don't know how to depend. And so I don't. So if someone is there to care for me, I let them. If not, well, my methods of self preservation have been well-cultivated. I know, there are better ways. I know. But sometimes I can't make up for my shortcomings.

Being a grown-up sucks.


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