#sentimental sunflower crying like a stupid baby idiot

[actualsunflower]

I never really talked about my surgery besides posting my ‘I lived bitch’ post on some of my sm after my surgery. I guess I’m a bit more ready to talk about it now though. It’s long so it’s under the cut. I’m feeling emotional

tw for talk of suicide and self harm also

Coming up to my surgery was terrifying. My depression got so bad, so fast, so intensely especially up to the last few months. I was working full time hours, doing commissions on top, saving 600 or more from each of my $800 checks, all the while barely getting sleep and not making enough to pay for everything I needed. My pets both ended up needing expensive vet trips which bit into my savings. I wasn’t getting much traction with my posts because everyone on tumblr and discord hated me. I have almost no friends, I wasn’t active on social media, I had lost the huge support group I was with before this. I was so depressed I can’t even remember the year. I remember bits a pieces, I remember sobbing every time my roommate an I tried to leave the house because of my chest and the binder and the way my clothes fit, I remember being so embarrassed by my body AND the crying over it in a household that isn’t supportive at all. I remember being so suicidal that I’d take walks by myself and watch the train and the cars with an empty mind and a numb body wishing I had the strength to jump in front of them. I remember staying awake unable to sleep, falling asleep on calls at work from my exhaustion. I remember each month that went by it got worse and worse. I december, I started cutting again with whatever I could find, I would break wine glasses and use bent bottle caps, I don’t even know if it hurt more because I couldn’t feel it. It was easy to play off because of my iguana's claws. I would call place after place trying get somewhere to write me a psych letter saying I was clear to get surgery because of my diagnosed schizophrenia, but nowhere in town or out would help. It wasn’t until the week before my surgery that I FINALLY found someone who went out if their way on their day off to write me that letter. I wanted to feel relief but I still didn’t have a ride yet, I still didn’t have all the funds. I was close but not close enough. My tax return would cover the rest, and my caretaker and I were splitting the cost of travel and the hotel. My tax return didn’t come. I felt sick every day waiting. I had a horrible panic attack one morning after another failed call to get a letter and my roommate had to hold me until I fell asleep on the couch during our work hours and went back to work when I woke up saying my power went out. Then the week came and something incredible happened. Someone messaged me asking how much I still needed. From all my work and savings I still needed over 1k. They helped me with this. I had the letters, after lots of fighting with people in the house we finally got a ride, this I had thought was all I needed. I couldn’t even believe it. I thought they were lying and I felt so sick. I cried so hard. I’m so grateful and I think about it every single day and I’m not exaggerating. I promised to pay them back and as soon as I was working again I did, and I’m still working on some art for them too though I feel bad it’s been taking so long. The day finally came to leave. My pcp had written a psychical health approval and we faxed it over, but on the MORNING we were in the car, on the road about to get on the highway I got a call from my dr. saying she won’t actual clear me anymore until I got more bloodwork. We quickly went and got my blood drawn before getting back on the road to Seattle from southern Oregon. I got a call just outside Salem. My bloodwork came back saying I had a potassium deficiency and she wouldn’t clear me anymore for surgery. My ENTIRE surgery was paid in full, our hotel rooms were paid in full, my surgery was in 2 days. I was devastated and horrified, we called my surgeon’s office and my dr over and over, we stopped in salem and I picked up a prescription they called in and I bought a ton of food and drinks in the car that had a lot of potassium and I ate and drank nothing else for the next 2 days, she told me check again once we get to Seattle after taking it 2 twice a day. We went on through portland and vancouver, Ive been there enough times but I’m always in awe of the big buildings and intricate paintings and bridges. We stopped close to tacoma at some tiny little town to go to the bathroom, I bought some potassium drink that I chugged in the car. I can’t remember what it tastes like but I do remember seeing some crows chasing a raven while I was standing outside the car. Tacoma was scary. It looks gross, there was some big ass dome? The buildings were ugly and the highways were terrifying. I saw a ferrero rocher museum when we got stuck in the wrong lane and had to figure out how to get back on the highway. I saw multiple bald eagles, they were awesome, I love birds a lot. We made it to Seattle, it was gorgeous. I didn’t know the space needle was orange. Before we got into Seattle, we went past the SeaTac airport. It was terrifying. I had NEVER seen airplanes that big in my entire life. They don’t even look like theyre MOVING when they’re in the sky, it was the absolute strangest experience in my entire life, and still is. i live literally right next to an airport at home, and the biggest thing I’ve seen is when the Ospreys occasionally stop in, other wise it’s tiny little planes, shipping companies and Reach helicopters. Those passenger planes are SO MUCH BIGGER than Ospreys. We went into tunnels, huge overpasses, it was weird. Seattle is covered in plants, walls were covered in ivy and it dangled from overpasses, it was really awesome. Though the landscape, it’s all identical to oregon. It didn’t even feel like we left the state. That night after getting settled into the hotel, we had some issues with a super dirty room with no working electric so we had to get another room which thankfully they didn’t charge more for, we went to some stores for supplies we couldn’t fit in the prius. I brought Nick with me for comfort and my paras plush. I went to a world market for the first time in my entire life. I bought some lavender honey from Spain, and that exact mushroom mug you always see all over the internet from there and a cute Toro toy from target. I felt so horrible. I was going to kill myself the next morning I kept thinking. I was so sure. I felt delighted that I was going to. I was so, so sure I was going to. I was going to take a walk because our hotel was in a little area with a barnes and noble, a few other stores. I was just going to walk off and ‘get lost’. But I was just a bit happy that I finally got to see Seattle and the airport, see something things I’d never seen before and gone farther away from home I’d ever been. We went to bed, it was hard and uncomfortable but my meds knock me out anyway. In the morning, we struggled to find a place to even get bloodwork done in Lynwood, we didn’t know where to go and it was hard to find a place even after calling very place that came up when google searching. That morning, I took twice the amount of potassium I was told because I wanted to make absolutely sure that bloodwork came back because if it didn’t, all my money, hard work, will to live, everything would be gone and I would die. We had complications getting the papers faxed over through states. My dr had to come in on a weekend for it. I am so grateful for her for doing all that for me. The lady at the desk was an older Asian lady, and she was super patient with me during the whole frustrating process of getting the work faxed. After getting my blood drawn by her, we left to await the results. We went back to the hotel, and my roomate and I decided to take a short walk down to the barnes and noble. I bought a shadow in riverclan and leopardstar’s honor, and one other of the triple novella ones. I sat in the starbucks and read the entirely of the graphic novel waiting for that call. We called them, no response yet. We walked back to the hotel, when they called. I was cleared, she wrote the letter and faxed it to my surgeon, and my surgeon called me saying the anesthesia guy would call me about 8pm to prep me. I hugged my friend and felt like I was going to cry but I was just so overwhelmed I couldn’t. I waiting for the call, he was extremely nice, and answered all my questions and was very very thorough, dispelled a ton of misinformation I had heard and put a lot of my fears to rest. I went to bed, my surgery was at 6:30am and I needed to shower and scrub with an antibacterial brush before we left.  That morning we went in. They came out to the car and gave me and my friend a covid swab, which sucked ass. They called and told us to go in and meet them in the office. The entire building was made of glass, and I took a picture of the sunrise behind the glass building. We found the dingy stairs at the back of the fancy decorated building and took those because I was too scared to entire the elevator. I met the ladies in the room, we went back, they asked questions and drew all over my naked body with markers, I talked with the anesthesia guy again (he was an EXTREMELY tall older man who said he’d been doing this for 40 years.) I took a pregnancy test, then they had my roommate leave and took me to the operating room. I laid down on a weird bed, they put my legs on some weird thing that was alternating inflating and lifting my legs up. The anesthetist was asking me questions about my job while they prepped a ton of things that idk what any of it was. Then he stuck the IV in my hand, smacked it very hard, and the nurse put a mask on me and I was out in half a second. I started waking up still in the operating room. I was so delirious, but I could make out someone over me, and I asked? “*Friend?*” because I thought it was him but as my vision got better the lady laughed and said no. She was a short blonde white girl. My friend is taller and a Mexican dude. I really don’t know what I was thinking honestly but we both think it’s really funny still. I passed out again and when I woke up again I was in the waiting room and she was sitting next to me. I asked if I was at planned parenthood, I don’t really know why I thought I was there. She said no. I asked if I could drink caffeine and coffee, which she laughed and said yes. I was so tired and mumbling everything. I asked her how much weight I lost, she said 6 pounds. Apparently I took longer than normal to leave because I just kept going back to sleep. When I was up, the nurse told me “No peeking!!” about not moving or looking in my surgical binder. Eventually I was awake long enough and they put me in a wheelchair and down the elevator out to our car and we went back to the hotel. I barely slept that entire 9 days, it was crazy. Everyone kept saying you’d sleep so much, the whole time, but I just couldn’t it was loud, people were smoking in the building, the neighbors seem to live there in the hotel and they made some incredible smelling Indian food every single day. I took a picture of me with the HUGE surgical binder on in the mirror in the hotel room and posted it on social media saying ‘I lived bitch’ which prompted my brother to message me asking what happened as I hadn’t told a single person in my family what I was doing. My chest was so swollen that my collarbone was completely gone. I was being reminded every 6 hours to take medications, every morning and every night too. My next appointment came up, my first time seeing my chest. It was in Kirkland washington. The building was many stories, their was construction going on and it was very loud and shook everything, and we were underground. The elevator was strange and underground and worked backward, you had to press the buttons in the reverse order for them to work. I took the stairs instead, which was a very bad idea, but I was ok in the end and we made it to my appointment. She came in and took of my binder, i couldn’t stand up straight the nipple bolsters grossed me out so much. I couldnt move my arms and the penrose drains made my gag. I was very disappointed when I had to put the nasty looking binder back on for several more days. After the appointment we went back and my friend and his mom went to target for more supplies, and he bought me a ton of dinosaur toys I had been wanting and some other cool things for himself including a really neat rayquaza figure and some atla graphic novels and I bought a green shirt from target just to have a shirt I bought when I finally got surgery. My last appointment came up. We went to the appointment, at Carillon Point. I got the binder taken off, I got the bolsters removed and the drains taken out. Cutting the bolster stitches felt like nothing. The drains were the WEIRDEST THING I HAVE EVERRRRR EXPERIENCED. It didn’t hurt! But dear fucking GOD was it STRANGE. My nurse laughed and said everyone says that. She asked me how long I’ve been wanting this, and where we were from. She was shocked that my home town has less than 22k people and the biggest building is a 3 story bank. We went back outside, Carillon Point is a marina, and it was gorgeous, super clean, beautiful plants, an awesome view of Seattle over the water, a super cool nest where a bald eagle couple was sitting with each other (we got pics but they’re blurry lol). I got a coffee at the adorable fancy starbucks and we walked down to the floating docks. There were fancy cafes, a clothing shop, a salon and a restaurant, and a big bell and a clock that rang on the hour. It was cold and windy but very pretty. I saw a boat named “Her Idea”. I couldn’t even comprehend what I was feeling. i was wearing a jacket and shirt I’d worn for years before then. but it was different now. it just felt right. I wore that exact same jacket today. We took a few pics, then went back to the hotel. We had to leave the next day. When we got back to the hotel, my rm and I decided to walk to the bookstore again. Bad idea honestly because I was very dizzy and it made the swelling worse plus I still couldn’t really stand well. Next morning we packed up, I put my surgical binder back on and we drove all the way home, we took what google maps called a shortcut through a neighborhood that ended up taking up almost another hour, but it was ok because it was a very pretty neighborhood. We got home and I immediately took a shower and struggled to wash my hair but it felt so fucking good. I have completely forgotten the month of may. I can’t remember it at all. I just remember being annoyed about sleeping on my back since I’m a belly sleeper, and having to wear the binder to bed. Every day was weird, wearing clothes was weird but good. I love that green shirt I bought. I wear it all the time and it makes my chest look amazing. Life now is weird. I’m not suicidal at all anymore. It’s really weird. The feeling disappeared immediately. I don’t know what to do with my life. Not in the meme way but I really didnt think I’d make it this far. Now I’m here and I need to do something with myself. I’m still lonely all the time and I still have little to no friends. I want to make amends with some people an reach out more but the shame of my depression years holds me back. Some things that I never noticed before, some things that still make me feel that feeling:  Seat belts. Wind. Biting cold wind, the sweat, the heat, itchy stuff. The chest bowl? You know the spot right between the pecks and above the belly that dips and it’s there even though I’m fat and it wasn’t there when I had breasts. Shirts from the side. Buttoning and zipping clothing. Leaning over. Reaching things. Stretching. Hugs and chest bumps. Crossing my arms, reaching from side to side with no resistance. Water touching my entire chest in the shower. Clothing in new sizes and old clothes pilling up. Just everything now.

But honestly, the best part? Is that I don’t think about it. It’s never in my mind anymore unless it’s a happy thing. In general I don’t think about it and it’s amazing. All that pain and frustration is gone. And it’s weird. It’s amazing and I love it. I hate it and I’m confused. Life is amazing now but it feels weird and terrifying that I have to live it now. Life is POSSIBLE now. Every single day I think about the people who helped me. I earned about 85% of it, the rest was from the kindness of others and I can’t even begin to put into words the kindness and happiness and gratefulness I feel. I feel like I could never repay these people in a meaningful way for what they gave me. I have been passing on when I can and donating when I find the posts and have the money to pass this along and I plan on making more donations once I pay my current medical bill (it’s going to collections on December 11th if I don’t pay it off LOL) and I am just so humbled. I hope some day I can be the same beacon of hope to someone here that people were for me. I’m trying my best

Thanks for reading this far if you did. I just feel like there’s been so much on my mind lately and I’ve not really got many people to let it out to. Just know that I am so, so eternally grateful for the help and support and I am doing everything I can to pay it back and pay it forward, I’ve been making a huge effort to donate and share when I can and I really hope we as a community can keep this going because it truly helps and truly saves lives. I know it really did save my life, this surgery did and this incredible community did

[walriding]

     “I don’t believe it.”

     “Sam--”

     “I don’t.” Inhale. Shiver. Exhale. “Believe it.”

     Not the first time she’s thought those words, but the first time she’s spoken them aloud. Externalizing the sentiment doesn’t ease the feeling of pressure that’s been steadily building in her chest ever since they got the news. It’s only been about two weeks since her mother picked up the phone and the world froze before it shattered. The interim has felt endless and instant all at once, slow as molasses in each moment but barely a blink when she looks back at it in its totality. 

     Funeral planning isn’t easy, but there are plenty of resources out there, how-to and what-not-to-do guides alike. Making preparations was something of a family affair, divided among her and her sister and her parents. Well, mostly between her and her sister and her father. Sam’s mother, currently seated with slumped shoulders on the couch while Sam’s daughter holds steadfastly to her hand, hadn’t the heart to provide much input. Such a thing can’t be blamed -- you aren’t meant to bury your children. And for as much as the woman had remarked with a mix of anger and worry that her son’s stupidity was going to get him killed, she’d never actually expected the day to come.

     None of them had.

     “You don’t have to believe it.” Ana says beside her, sounding wearier and so much more exhausted than Sam has ever heard. The middle Upshur child is looking around the space before them, appraising the scenery and the faces all congregated in the family home to pay respects. Turnout has been about what was expected, given the sudden circumstances. Family and friends, people who knew the family or the deceased in particular. Even an ex boyfriend showed up, though Sam hasn’t said more than a few words to him. She’d always liked Jack, and some part of her privately wonders how things could have been different, if her brother hadn’t been so goddamn difficult. Flowers and candles dot most of the available horizontal surfaces, along with clusters of photos and mementos marking the passage of a life once lived. And at the center of it all, on a table overcrowded with all manner of tokens, sits an understated gray and bronze urn. “He’s dead. It doesn’t matter what you think or what you believe -- Miles is dead.”

     Ana’s always been blunt. That had been the impetus for many a childhood spat between her and the youngest of their trio. In that way, Ana and Miles were too alike. Sam has always been more measured, more thoughtful, more cautious. She’d be a poor excuse for a lawyer, if she had the temper or the mouth of either of her siblings. But when she chances a side glance at Ana, peeling her gaze away from that fucking urn, she sees that her sister’s eyes are wet with tears soon to be shed. Sam doesn’t reach out, but instead leans in until their arms are just brushing. Ana presses into the contact until she can tilt her head onto her older sister’s shoulder. 

     “He was such a fucking idiot,” Ana mutters. “All the stupid shit he did, all the grief he put Mom and Dad through every time he dropped off the face of the earth, and he went and let his apartment catch fire with him in it. Like a fucking idiot.”

     Sam chews her lip, lost in thought. They’re talking too lowly to draw anyone’s attention, and a sort of bubble has developed around the immediate members of the family. Death is hard -- tragic deaths are even harder. No one really knows what to say. But she’s grateful for the relative privacy, even when the house is just shy of being packed with people. Today still doesn’t feel real. She’s had over almost two weeks to process, almost two weeks to sort through every thought and emotion in her heart and head. She’s shed her fair share of tears and she knows that two days from now, when she’s throwing a handful of damp soil over her brother’s ashes, she’s going to cry again. But today feels like a dream, like something she’s observing rather than experiencing. 

     Everyone mourns differently. She tells herself it’s okay to feel numb.

     There’s a low buzz and Ana straightens, still bumping shoulders with Sam, and digs into her pocket to fish out her vibrating phone. Her husband’s name brightens the screen. “It’s Tom,” she says, sniffling and wiping her eyes. “He’s probably on his way with the kids.” She’s already heading for quiet of the kitchen and holding the phone up to her ear before Sam can ask if she wants company.

     Alone, now, Sam inhales. Shivers. Exhales. She looks around at the flowers -- she’d made sure there were sunflowers in at least one of the arrangements, Miles’ favorites -- and the photographs. Some are from their childhood and taken from dusty photo albums, while others are newer printouts that college friends brought along. Even Jack had supplied a number of picture-memories, things he hadn’t gotten around to throwing away after the breakup. It pains Sam to know there aren’t many current photographs, that Miles struggled to keep so many connections. The most recent family photo that includes him dates back to Christmas -- three years ago this December.

     Miles would hate this, she thinks as she continues taking it all in. He’d never really been one to revere tradition, and right now he’d be scoffing at how forced the whole thing is. Christ, Sam, this is just fucking depressing, he’d say, rolling those big brown eyes. Just bury me in the backyard and save money. And he’d smirk and laugh in that way of his when she would elbow him hard in the ribs.

     Wherever he is, Sam hopes he’s laughing, smiling, maybe even getting a little exasperated at the whole song and dance.

     I don’t believe it.

     Denial is a stage of grief. She knows this. Knows that pretending he’s still out there isn’t healthy, in the long run. It’s not coping. But it’s not the same as blind grief because it’s all too... convenient. Sam has always watched Miles’ career, always tried to keep tabs on where he’s been and what he’s been writing. And he’s always opened up to her more than he has to anyone else in the family. She’s heard about Murkoff -- had many a lengthy and largely one-sided phone conversation while he ranted about their latest money-grabbing capitalist fuckery. His words, not hers. She knows the sites to frequent, the sources that border on fringe conspiracy ramblings. The night after they’d gotten the news from the D.C. police, one of Sam’s first instincts had been to look online for more information. VIRALeaks was the last link she’d had open, and the page loaded before she could close it out. One of the featured stories, right there on the front page, was a video file. It was taken on a camcorder, shaky and grainy, the kind of thing that looked like an amateur found footage film. She wouldn’t have even clicked the link if the written caption hadn’t caught her eye.

     The footage was taken at the Mount Massive Asylum in Colorado.

     Mount Massive was owned by the Murkoff Corporation.

     She watched the whole thing, even the parts that made her want to throw up. Then she watched it again.

     Then she began piecing everything together.

     Miles’ Jeep was missing without a trace. His bank account showed a substantial withdrawal just days after the timestamp on the asylum recording. The records of his phone usage, bank account access, anything that would offer a geographic pinpoint were either inaccessible, or showed that he was somewhere closer to D.C. But Murkoff handled biometric security as their main priority -- they were a tech company, for fuck’s sake. And Miles had told her time and time again how adept they were at covering tracks, burying leads, making sure the truth of what they did never saw the light of day.

     Sam blinks. Without realizing, her hand had curled into such a tight fist her fingernails have left crescent moons in her palm. Ana is back at her side, eyes dry but still red and slightly puffy, asking if she’s alright. Sam nods, then shakes her head, nods again. Ana frowns.

     “You were zoned out. Are you--” But then their father is at Sam’s other side, touching a gentle hand to her shoulder. 

     There are tears streaming down Sam’s face in warm, wet rivulets, dripping onto the collar of her shirt. She hadn’t even noticed.

     “Let’s take a walk,” her father says, soft and sad and old. When had her parents gotten so old? He hands her a tissue, says nothing else.

     “No, no, I just-- I need a minute,” she wipes at her eyes, not much caring for how it makes her makeup streak. “I need air, I’ll... I’ll be right back.” Nodding, solemn and lost for words, he lets her go.

     The backyard is empty, at least. There’s no one to watch when Sam sits on a plastic chair and all but doubles over as she sobs. Whether she believes it or not, she’s at her parents’ house and there’s an urn in their living room and it’s filled with the ashes of her baby brother’s life. In two days, the urn will be buried, laid to rest beneath soil and a flat headstone bearing a bible verse Sam had selected because no one else could bring themselves to do it.

     Blessed those who do what is right, whose deeds are always just.

     Miles would probably hate it.

     But that verse sticks in Sam’s head after she’s cried herself dry for the time being. It can’t have been very long -- no one’s come looking -- and she pulls out her phone to check the time and her reflection. Might as well go back inside looking halfway presentable. Once the mascara is off of her cheeks, she hesitates, phone still in hand. 

     Blessed those who do what is right, whose deeds are always just. 

     There’s no way Miles didn’t know about the asylum, that his finger wasn’t on the pulse of that story from the get-go. Sam knows that right down to her core. He would have known.

     He would have tried to investigate.

     Having followed the pathway of his professional journey, she’s seen his collaborations with others. A handful of co-authored articles and a few podcasts he’d done with another investigative journalist. Newstomorrow.net -- entered into the address bar without a second thought. Still sniffling, she navigates through the site until she finds contact information. An email address.

     It’s desperate. It’s might be a little bit crazy. 

     It’s the kind of thing Miles would do.

     She copies the email address, opens up a new composition, and begins to type. 

     When she’s finished, she hits send.

     Balling the used tissue up and stuffing it into her pocket alongside her phone, she goes back inside the house.