Breath

I have never paid much attention to breathing.  It is just something that happens without thought, without reason.  This air is hardly important until it ceases.  Because then we are dead.

I talk very little about my sister.  And even less about those moments prior to her death.  I am still racked with grief and guilt if I allow myself the time to submerge my heart beneath the surface of the day-to-day fine.

She used a gun I owned.  A gun my sister offered to keep because I was too nervous to have a weapon in my own home with a baby.  That perpetual chain of events still takes my own breath away and leaves a putrid grief filled vacuum behind.  Guilt laced air is what I breathe now.

In her final day or so she was not much to look at.  A piece of her skull removed for swelling left her tragic head misshapen and uninhabitable.  It was an unnatural symmetry to watch her chest rise and fall in rhythm with machines.  I knew she was gone yet there she was lying in a shallow and selfish grave. 

I go back to that moment often.  For some strange reason I grasp at the fading memory trying to recall if she ever exhaled the final breath she drew.  I do not know why this is important.  And never mind that it is certainly of no consequence to the circumstances I find myself within today.  But still I wonder.

Did she give something back or did she steal that tiny piece of air never to reciprocate again?

Thinking precisely back to nights in that big, white, and wooden bed I can hear her breathing.  Nearly nose to nose I match my breath with hers and we share.  We share the space and we share our secret burdens.  And we never say a word.

Growing siblings often fight as they learn to share.  But we were forced to share and we did so brilliantly.  We never fought over who was fucking us.  We never fought over who betrayed us.  I held her collective breath and she held mine.  But in the end we did not share survival and I will always wonder why.

We both grew up and with her final stolen breath our secrets died with her.  Every minute of every day I breathe and if I'm mindful I can feel the pangs of the memories lost with her.  She should be turning a year older soon but she never recovered from that last breath of toxic shame she took.

Ummm...

So, I'll just start out by saying that I'm not a very good blogger.  I get busy.  I get tired.  I get overwhelmed.  Or in this case I just do my best to ignore it hoping that it will just go away.

But it doesn't go away. 

What started as ignoring turned into not giving a fuck.  And then not giving a fuck turned into the worst depression I have wandered into in more than 7 years.  And then that turned into some tears followed by a near trip to the hospital.

In all my mess I've had one absolute no and that is a no to ever going inpatient.  I don't like hospitals; especially the kind that my mother spent time in.  But last week I was one car ride away from crossing that last no off my list.  It's like a genetic bucket list for me.  Crazy... check  Medication... check  Self harm... check... Breakdown... check  Hospital... check.

Why am I here now?  Honestly I'm not really sure.  I still feel awful but I feel better than I did.  Because I finally got some help.  You see, I skipped out on therapy for nearly a month.  All my fault.

I'm the master of shutting people out.  I turn inward and if given enough time I can easily get lost in my weird little world.  But in shutting caring people out I also keep secrets.  To me that is no big deal considering how I grew up.  But now the secrets are hurting me.

Probably my biggest secret; I went off my meds.  All of them.  We have had some financial struggles as of late and I determined I was not worth the cost of the Dr. appointments or the medications themselves.  The money could be spent for better things that did not include myself.  I told no one of my decision and I told everyone inside of me to shut up.

Are you amazed at my stupidity?  I certainly am. 

But amazed isn't really the correct word.  I'm ashamed.  I'm embarrassed.  I'm angry at myself.  I'm frustrated because I can't just be better.  I'm scared to ask for the help I need when I need it.  And then I'm back to being ashamed because I had to ask for help.

I have taken some steps in the right direction.  I went to therapy and I'll go again this week.  I  said no to something that wanted to conflict with this week's appointment... I feel guilty about that.  I called to make an appointment to see a shrink.  I've stopped keeping recent secrets.

Small steps but steps nonetheless.  So read while you can; it's not often that you get a glimpse of me un-medicated.

Lump

I find myself tangled in the lump of my throat.  Trapped somewhere between my mind of logic and my twisted and aching heart I am dizzy with conflict.  I am worth something.  I am worth nothing.  I am worth more than words can offer.

That familiar lump squeezes and twists my weary emotions as I grasp for a momentary breath of logic.  A thought that reassures what kindness says; an understanding that I am so much more than what they said.  But in that moment their words, their actions; they come crashing down on me as the lump threatens to engulf me.

Pain and bitter bile wash over me and the choices seem so non-existent.  Why else would their hatred spiral?  Why else would a child so young bear such deep and burdened scars?

It must be because I am worth so little.

The secrets that we shared.  The secrets that I keep.  These are the fuel to ignite a burning lump of torture.  I struggle to move on and I struggle to let go while the lump clutches its tiny treasure.  How do I feel my worth when all I feel is the pain wiping away even the smallest doubt that they might have been wrong?

I want to breathe.  I want to feel the full capacity of worth expand until that lump of disbelief is pushed aside for good.  I want to exhale until I know that they were wrong.

Status

Just like everyone else, I am glancing backwards at 2010.  Good year.  Bad year.  Something in between...

My father is dead.
I told some secrets.
I made some quilts.
I was promoted.
I learned a lot.
I cried some more.
I made a friend.
I returned to church.
I integrated broken pieces.
I am alive.

Belated

I wanted stop in to wish everyone a belated Merry Christmas and a forward looking Happy New Year!

I promise to be around more.  Things have been unbelievably busy at work as has life in general.  I have found little time to write but I miss it terribly.  So at the top of my New Year's list is making time to write.

I hope you all are well...