fists and fire

Content : Sister giving up, suicide, anger, fear
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She reaches from the grave to strangle with guilt
Still I can breathe.
But I don't have enough breath to share with you.

Today was overwhelming, full of dissociation and sporadic activities to keep my head from going back home. I'm swallowing the information given to me that my sister is quitting life, she's quitting.

Never once did I think my sister would give up. I never saw that in her.

I recognize the look in her eye as pure disgust and disdain for me but she has never out right said why. There's so much emotion boiling that if one more second slipped between us she's begin to spit fire because that's all she could do. I can see her fists balled, mouth open as upset reaches rage.

She's thrown a curve ball, one I can't digest. This makes no sense.  My sister doesn't quit, she doesn't. It's one thing to deny me and ignore me, it's another thing to throw in the towel and leave me....My mother's dead, my brother is dead and now you want to leave, too? No, I don't think so!!!! .......

The sister I remember was mean and abusive towards me. The sister I remember is lovable and cherished and needed. The sister I remember hates me. Her words are cruel and her reality is twisted. The sister I remember sees me as less than dirt under her show and has zero use for me. I know that. It's not a surprise.

If she stood in front of me I'd be so upset with her I'd start slapping her. There would be no words because the emotion that comes with the thought of her dead is so strong that if in front of her, I could only shake her and slap her. And then she'd boil up that rage and start spitting fire. We'd be two little girls so hurt, so scared. Two inches from her face, she and I would be so lost we'd never find each other in the explosion of fists and fire.

To my sister,
you don't have to die. I'm begging you not to.
I understand.
This is a dark existence we have, one that is difficult to separate our mother's reality from truth then trust that it really is safe to exist without her. We are not doomed children. We really can make it on our own. We really can run our own household, have real friends we can TRUST!! We are not demons, we are not bad, we are not worthless, so broken we can't be of value to anyone. We are not the words others have given to us. We can walk on our own. We can breathe on our own. We can find a way through her hell that reaches from the grave to strangles us.

I will not take the call that you're gone. i will not take that call.

If I thought our brother's death was earth shattering, what do you think will happen if you're no longer here? I'd lay on the bed and just vomit and cry, vomit and cry. What else is there to do? The thought is unreal. As selfish as it sounds, please don't leave me here by myself, ok? I wish you actually knew I was writing to you or thinking of you. I wish you cared that my mind is bending at the thought of you giving up. I go back and forth between not being able to hold that thought in my head to crying uncontrollably to anger to dissociation to wanting to just lay down and weep.

I feel lost. I've been wandering around my house all day as if I'm looking for something. I know I'm just running from my head but I still go around the house aimlessly looking for...something...

My God. This is not supposed to happen like this. I thought you'd grow old and have pet birds and be a bit eccentric. I'd hear from others about your life and then come home and cry, but I thought you'd live a long time. You'd live a long time without me, without the rest of our family, but you'd live.

I can't write you a letter, call you, text you, email you or anything else to tell you what your surviving sister feels about your choice.

I'm shocked. I'm angry and I'm scared of the dark.

I'm not going to quit. It gets hard to see things straight sometimes. Depression is thick and sticks to my skin like tar. It's tight and sometimes I can't breathe, but I'm not going to quit. I'm going to take what I've learned all these years and I'm going to trust is because I HAVE TO. I have to trust the judgement of others sometimes. They say I'm strong enough. They say I can gather enough courage and strength to heal wounds and thrive. They hold me up and they ask only for my friendship in return. I'm not going to give up my desire to explore all the things that interest me and do it despite how strange it may look. I'm going to keep on keeping on.

I'm going to struggle through the days when depression is on my ankles like chains. I'm going to struggle through the days when I can't stand to be in my skin and when my dreams over take my day I'm going to keep on going. I'm going to live, because I can. You can do this. You can do this, Kr, you can do this.

Jordan

This entry picks up at Out of prison, into the world and ends with Spinning, Saying My Peace.