#another friend was breaking out shit theyd noticed from LAST YEAR that makes them think he’s into me

[trashbaget]

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[that-one-violist]

I haven’t been able to really vent out in a proper way how I’m dealing with a loss recently. It’s built and festered into a weird transparent stress, one that’s always there but possible to ignore when necessary. I tried to find ways to escape it and to find other stressors and problems to distract me. I found myself craving oppurtunities to ruin myself, physically or emotionally. Running into problems I knew I would regret if I went far enough, but just needing something other than the guilt regret grief confusion anger and sorrow to distract me. Using problems to cover problems isn’t healthy or smart. Music is fine but I’m too frustrated with myself on viola to be able to use it to properly cope. So this is the alternative. I don’t know what I was wanting from this. I just wrote shit about it. Its long and I don’t intend to bombard my few active followers with a semi sob story with no coherent wording. Feel free to read, because I guess somehow sharing it and being vulnerable is part of the process I personally have to go through to deal with shit. 

Thanks for dealing with this stuff, whether scrolling past it or sending messages or just being friendly recently I appreciate it. I won’t make this part much longer. But.. yeah. Okay.

What I would give to go back. Take it all back. Do things the right way this time. December. Do the holiday season right, because saying that there was always the next year, that she would be in good health then wasn’t enough. Because saying that we’d do traditions and be happy and celebrate the new year as a family, next year of course can’t keep a heart beating. January. Do the big crafts we had been postponing for years. Make the house more accessible so she could have had a chance. Take care of the backyard so she could enjoy the only real view of the outside she had. Spend more time with her, watch those shows and share moments with her because soon those moments shared between two would become nothing but memories only dear to one. February. Call her back a few more times. Spend more time with her on the phone instead of being busy with friends. Be there for her, because she was struggling in a way I couldn’t accept, so I pretended it wasn’t there. March. Spend time with her during spring break. Go ahead and play my repertoire for her, because she kept asking and I kept saying “it’s not good enough yet, I promise in May I will though.” But I didn’t realize it didn’t matter how good it was. It just mattered that she would get to play an active role in something she made possible. I didn’t realize she didn’t have another May. Hug her when I left instead of being in a hurry, because little did I know that was the last time either of us would see each other, that I would never see her smile again. Stay on the phone with her a while longer instead of saying “I’ll call you back in the morning”, only to wake up late and postpone it to a later date that wouldn’t exist. To not have the last time she heard my voice be “Sorry I have to go I’m grabbing dinner with some friends, I’ll call you back tomorrow morning, love you.” To beg harder for my dad to hand the phone to her when we realized she was incredibly ill. To not waste my time saying “I swear to god I don’t want to have to pick up the phone to hear she’s gone because she couldn’t get to a hospital / refused to go” and instead call her because I was too damn correct with those predictions, and little did I know I had less than 24 hours. To call her during that 5 min break before class even for some small thing just to hear her voice. I would give anything. Anything for even an hour with her. An hour to tell her I was sorry, that she meant so much to me, to tell her that I’ve continued to do well and that she wouldn’t have to be disappointed in me for giving up. To tell her all the dumb stories that I was holding until my 21st birthday. To tell her about all the dumb mistakes I’ve made and get some last words of wisdom. Losing a parent you were close to carves a hole in your heart. You’re left indescribably in pieces that you can glue back together and make it appear as if it was never broken to everyone around you, only for you to forever notice the crack and the small pieces that you couldn’t find or put back together. Left forever changed. Thinking maybe the glue worked this time, all seems well and you’ve gotten used to the chips and missing pieces. Then you find another one, you notice the crack you’ve been avoiding. And it all falls apart again. Nothing will ever be the same. Nothing will ever carry the same innocent brightness that came with a world in which no one close to you could pass away, one where you knew for a fact loss is inevitable but the inability to conceive of a world without them was enough to keep you afloat. The world will always feel a little heavier. A little darker. A little more empty. Everyone say’s it gets better. The truth? It gets worse, at least it did in my case. The only thing that gets better is your ability to outwardly cope and say their name without wincing. But the more time passes the more pieces you find missing. The more things you find that break you. The more time that passes the more of your story that is left unshared and unknown to them. The more ‘milestones’ they promised theyd be there for pass. Of course, life as a whole becomes easier to cope with. “Things get better” has truth to it. Memories stop being guilt filled and tragic and rather become bittersweet. You regain the ability to think about stuff like before. But everything always is a touch heavier, darker, and emptier.