Monday, December 31, 2012
I hate New Year's Eve!
It is New Year's Eve and I am sitting in my bed. I am downstairs. I am away from my parents. I can not be near them right now. I need time alone. What I really want is to be able to walk next door and talk to my best friend K. Or to get in my van and drive to my sister M's or my aunt's. To be able to be me without having to watch every word that comes out of my mouth.
I hate New Years Eve. I have since August 24, 2007. Because since then, it is not the way it used to be. It will never be the fun it used to be. It isn't the celebration it used to be. Tony would have been 40 at 12:01 am. But he never made it. He died at age 34. Of cancer. He died. And all the fun of New Years went with him.
Sure I've tried in the past few years to have fun. But I can't. I always feel this cloud hovering over me. This sadness that just creeps in. I try to fight it. I tried to hide it in Vegas in 2010. I was there, but it wasn't fun for me. My heart hurt the entire night. I faked it as best I could. But I'm sure my friends A, T and B knew something wasn't right. I should never have gone. Because I didn't belong there. I don't know where I belonged, but it wasn't there. And I still don't know where I belong on this hated holiday….
I miss my house in Wisconsin. I miss my friends, my family. I miss being able to do what I want when I want. I miss having my own life. It's hard not having what I had grown very used to over the past five years. My little two bedroom house- with all it's imperfections. But it was mine. I didn't have to worry if I put another hole in the wall because I hung a picture. If I didn't feel like doing dishes, I didn't. I lived alone and I was okay with that.
Now, I live with two other people. People who are set in their own ways. People who have their own language with one another. I am on the outside. I am trying to do what I think is best, but I get it wrong… a lot. I do not know how to make her happy. I try my best every day. And she asks, "When is Dad coming home?" no matter if it's noon or 4:55 pm. She always wants Dad. I am not the one who can make her world right.
I can sit in the same room with her and watch mindless TV all day and have her get annoyed with me. I can fix lunch in the morning and then retreat downstairs to give her space and she'll get sad and lonely. I can spend half the day up and half the day down. I can take her shopping in the morning for three hours and in the afternoon she snarkily comments that she is "locked up in this house all day." I can ask her to go for a walk with me and be told, "I don't want to", so I go. But then I "left her alone" and she gets scared.
I know that no matter if it was me or my dad or the blue man on the moon, no one could get it right even half the time. And that's what kills me. I don't like not being able to get this right. I was an "A" student through high school. In college I graduated with a 3.1 GPA and held down a job for 3/4 of my time there. I was smart. I knew what I was capable of. Now, I feel as uneducated as a block of stone. I do not know how to do this.
When I sit down to write, I know how to do it. I can make my feelings understood by a reader. I can help someone see what it's like to walk this line or become vested in whatever topic I want them to be. But I can't make my own mind understand why I am getting so frustrated. Why I want to scream and cry and yell at her. I know it'll do no good. So why do I still feel like it's the only way through to her?
I feel guilty for feeling this way. Here I sit in tears and all I can think is I shouldn't share this with you. I should just suck it up and deal with it. But I promised I'd be honest. It sucks. Being honest with you, means I have to be honest with myself. And I don't like feeling like this. I don't like feeling lost and incompetent.
I miss my brother. I miss having him to talk to. There is no one else on this planet that gets me like he did. He and I shared the same parents. We knew the same life. And now, to try to explain to someone on the "outside", it's not the same. Because you don't know the back story. You don't know my mom. You don't know my dad. You don't know me. It takes forever to give you the back story. When all I want is my brother to say, "Hey I understand. Mom's fucked up. The whole thing is fucked up. But I got your back." And know that he did.
You can tell me you have my back. But in reality, you don't. I don't expect you to. You have kids, a husband, a life that you need to be involved in. You're not here. I am. I can't ask you to come sit with her for an hour so I can go meet another friend for lunch. Hell, I don't know anyone here besides my parents. They don't have friends outside of each other (long story for another blog) here in Colorado. If you call, I can't talk to you about what's going on. But if Tony was here, I could. I could talk to him in our code and he'd understand. He'd know what to ask and he'd know what was what.
The bond between siblings can be strong or it can be weak. I was lucky. My bond with Tony was unbreakable. Even when he died, that bond is not gone. I know that if I turn on my radio, he'll send me my song. He'll let me know he's still listening. I just wish like hell that I could talk with him. That I could laugh with him. That I could wish him "Happy 40th Birthday Ugly Boy!"
I wish like hell it was 1990 again and he and I were playing Monopoly, eating all kinds of junk food, watching Segal or Stallone blow some shit up and laughing like two idiots. And at 12:01 I'd wish him Happy Birthday and sing as loud as I could. Then we'd go back to our game and our dumb movie. Before everything changed. Way before the world as I knew it ended….