YES!I am sooooo in love with it! And my school offers free classes so once rugby is finished (right now we practice 5-7, 5 days a week) I’ll be able to go! And now there’s also Kickboxing and Yoga classes so I am set for the semester! :D So thrilled!
Which means it is almost September 27th, the anniversary of the death of my best friend. My cousin, my hero.
It’s been two whole years since everything about my life changed. Two years since I was told he was gone forever. Two years.
I can barely remember the first year…It was a blur of denial, tears, despair, confusion, and anger. A friend told me recently that it looked like I “was just working on trying to breath”.
Two years. And I am still not okay. No one in my family is, as Angie said “We are damaged”. There is no limit to grief, no time line etched out for us to follow.
To this day thinking about his death makes me sick inside. I’ll never fully know why he killed himself. Why he ended everything. Why he didn’t reach out. Why Why Why
I think of him all the time.
Sometimes I burst into tears after glancing at his photo. Or thinking his name. But never do I let myself cry for too long. I fear that if I just let out all the sadness and anger and pain inside me all at once I’ll never stop crying. So I let it out little by little. Two years, and I still have yet to put a significant dent in those locked up emotions.
At least I’ve stopped telling everyone I’m fine when I’m not. That took about a year and a few months. My family would call to see how I was, and I would simply say Oh I’m fine! How about you? What a load of shit, then again what could I say, Oh I feel like I will never be able to be fully 100% happy again? Hows things on your end? Though I’m sure that would not have shocked too many family members, so maybe I should have said something along those lines.
Too bad I wasn’t able to let go of the hold I had on myself…as if admitting I was torn apart inside was admitting a weakness. I was stupid to think so. But I was simply trying to hold myself together.
I used to love my English major; I used to write poems. I have not written a poem, a stanza, a line, in two years. Every English class I have taken since that day has mentioned suicide, to the point where I feel like the universe is out to get me, waiting for me to grab whichever book forcing the subject upon me, daring me to throw it at the stupid girl/boy/professor who thinks he/she can explain suicide in a factual manner. There are no facts that can ever bring you close to the feeling, the knowledge, the horror, that engulfs you once suicide rips a loved one out of your life.
There is no logical explanation.
I would give up everything, every happy memory I have, to have him back. But I cannot keep thinking along those lines. They are empty and impossible, and a waste of my time.
Sometimes I feel like there is an empty space in my heart. It is just gone, torn out two years ago. Nothing can fill this space. Nothing. Memories, photos, his grave; nothing can help me fill this void. It is forever in my heart.
I don’t know if I can handle tomorrow, but I have to.
No matter how much I want it to, time does not stop and wait for people to reassemble their shattered lives.