Shout, Shout, Let it All Out

When I was little I lost my dad. Let me rephrase… when I was six years old my dad died suddenly and unexpectedly, and that loss has been with me my entire life. It sits on my chest, and weighs on me heavily when I stand still long enough to think about it. In many ways, losing someone so pivital in my life at such a young age has seemed to shape me - it shapes the way I view the world, and I largely believe that my generalized anxiety disorder can be traced back to this first life altering event. And then I just kept losing the people that I love.

When I was 13 I lost my granddaddy Stewart, and it was awful. We were there at the end in the hospital with him, and it was horrific. He was dying. We were there to see him dying. And in my preteen brain, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that there was literally nothing I could do about it. Although losing grandparents is probably most children's first introduction to the inevitability that everyone dies, my granddaddy had become a replacement father figure in my life, and therefore his loss was akin to losing my father all over again. 

When I was 14 my cousin Paul (who was more like a brother than a cousin) died by suicide. It was (and still is) one of the worst things that has ever happened in my life. It completely changed my family, our holiday traditions, and to this day, I still have nightmares about the night we lost Paul.

Because of these loses, since I was very young, my worst fear has been that someone I love dearly will die again. While I know that death is an inevitable part of life, losing people is terrifying to me. 

And then a few months ago, it happened again. My brother died unexpectedly. While he had been disabled for a very long time, and while my brain likes to play the game of “worst case scenario”, and play out how I would react or feel if someone I loved passed away (usually when I’m trying to sleep); nothing can ever fully prepare you for losing one of your favorite people.

My siblings aren’t just random people in my life (it seems like I know so many people that aren’t particularly close with their siblings, or who haven’t talked to their siblings in years). My siblings are my best friends. We don’t live close to one another, but we talk often; and when we see one another, we go out and spend time together like no time has passed at all. We play pool, we eat food, and we enjoy the time we spend together. They raised me when my mother simply wasn’t mentally capable (or even physically present). Losing my brother is one of my worst nightmares, one of my greatest fears, and it happened. And even though it happened months ago, feels like it’s still happening to me. My brain won’t let it go. I expect to be able to call him with good or bad news at every turn. I expected to see him this past Christmas. I expect him to see my daughter grow up. And he’s… just… Not… There… and when I let myself think about that, it’s excruciating.

And the worst part is, I don’t feel like I have time to deal with any of it. Or more accurately, I don't want to make the time to deal with it. When I start to think about it, I cry; and simply put, I don’t have time to cry. I have a job, I have responsibilities, I have a baby who I love dearly and I don’t want to cry in front of yet, not yet. As someone who grew up with an absent mother who was always crying when she was around (who always cries even now), I just don’t want to cry around my daughter. I know that’s not logical. I know I will never be like my mother. But I just hate crying anyways, and I really don’t want to cry around my baby. 

So I shove it down. I don’t have time, I have to get work done. I don’t have time, I want to be present for the little time I get to spend with my daughter because of working. I don’t have time, I need to sleep. Oh in the quiet moments right before I fall asleep, my brain tries so hard to think about it, to make me feel it, and I keep shoving it down. I don’t want to think about it. He’s still there… he’s just a phone call away… I’ll see him the next time I come to visit… it’s not happening again. He’ll always be there. It’s alright.

But it’s not alright. I’m anxious all of the time anyways. I’m terrified something will happen to my husband, or my daughter, or my sisters. I’m so anxious, my entire body is tense all of the time. I'm so tense, I keep hurting my back simply by existing. When I drive, horrible images float through my brain - I keep imagining horrible accidents that will take it all away with a blink of an eye. I’m on high alert. I need to keep my family safe. At night, I wake up all of the time even when my daughter isn’t stirring or awake because I need to check the monitor. I need to see that she’s OK. Everything in this life is so fucking fragile, and I just can’t seem to cope with any of it.

And then I shove all of that down too… and logically I know that this will only last for so long, that I can only put off these feelings for so long; but I spent so much time in my life feeling like shit. I worked so hard in my life to get to where I am now. I have such a good life (you know, aside from the loss and the anxiety). I just want to enjoy the good things in my life, and ignore the bad things… just a little while longer. But if I keep shoving it down, it's only going to get worse. The detachment/anxiety cycle is going to keep getting worse.

And what is the worst thing that could happen if I really let it sink it, if I think about it, if I let myself cry? It becomes real... if I actually let myself feel this, he's really gone. If I stop thinking that he's just a phone call away, he really isn't just a phone call away. If I stop expecting to see him, if I stop thinking about the next time I get to see him... he really won't be there. I'm not ready to accept it. I'm not ready to accept that he's gone. Over and over again, like a child throwing a tantrum, my mantra is that it's not fucking fair. It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not right. It'll never be right. And I'm just so fucking sick of losing the people that I love. I'm so fucking sick of feeling like I've been left.

A good friend of mine told me that I need to start writing; that I need to start dealing with these emotions. So I’m trying now. I’m trying so fucking hard to let it out, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid that if I think too much about it, I won’t be able to stop. But I have to start letting it out sometime. It may as well be pen to paper… or you know, typing words into a screen.