Sadness @ MindSay



 

   
Stuff about things
My mother has made the decision to see a therapist after struggling for a few months now from a bad break-up and depression. She called me last night after her first session, and I don't think I've heard her sounding that well in quite a long time.

A few weeks ago she told me I was a bad daughter, and tells me a lot that I avoid her (which, to be honest, I sometimes do because I feel incapable of handling her when she's depressed and it brings me down too... silly, I know).  I don't think I'm a bad daughter, but I feel like I should have been there more for her. I don't think I really understood the gravity of her situation because I was caught up in my life. I know that it's not my job to be her parent, or anyone's parent yet, however I do feel some of that obligation...

She told me that the therapist that identified her as being at risk to herself, and suffering from chronic depression. My mother also said that because she grew up in an abusive home with a terrible stepfather, she struggles identifying what healthy relationships are, and was against getting therapy for years because she didn't think she needed help and was doing fine on her own... That clearly became no longer the case.

She apologized for being a bad mother, and for not being there for me when I told her that I was raped and was trying to overcome the traumatic stress caused by the incident. That choked me up a bit, mostly because after seeking therapy I really haven't thought too much about what happened. She asked me if I or my brothers felt like we needed to see someone to help us deal with the aftereffects of my parent's divorce, or with her parenting. I told her no. After minoring in psychology in college, I've already turned my own childhood over enough in my mind that I feel comfortable and accepting of my parent's divorce and my mother's parenting. I think I do hold some resentment, but it's nothing that I let affect me or how I act towards them (to my knowledge). I can't speak for my brothers though. From what I've observed, they are each struggling with their own problems, however I don't know if they would be receptive to therapy anyway.

The human experience really is a roller-coaster ride of emotions. I talked to Tony a little bit about what my mother said. I think he feels a bit uncomfortable talking about that sort of stuff because his family doesn't really go into it. However, he is an excellent listener and validates me within reason, which is the healthy thing to do.

Also, in other news.... Whatever I'm allergic to, I've come into contact with it again because my eyes, chest and back are extremely itchy today.... uh-oh.


 
 
   
 

Can't Forget
At this time today
eleven years ago
everything was still normal.

I was just a regular junior in a regular high school, and first period was just starting up. 

You know, I don't remember a single thing about that last regular morning.
I wish I did; the last morning before everything changed and we truly knew fear and the entire world changed.

But I have no idea who I talked to.  What I ate for breakfast that morning (most likely nothing, as breakfast and I weren't friends).  If I told my parents that I loved them.  If the cat bit me.  If I had a project due, or a test I didn't want to study for, or if there was a single thing that truly worried me.

I know that just 2 days prior, at Stacey's Sweet 16, I'd made-up with Eric, and was delighted by that.

And all of it was shattered walking into 4th period.
That was the end.

Everything THEN is still a movie in my mind; walking in care free, talking to Nicole, the room buzzing, and Doctor Lagana silent against his desk.  It being several minutes into American History, and we were not being shushed, even though Doc, the mouse of a man he was, was usually chomping at the bit to tell us his stuff.  A strange black box on the windowsill next to me, as a fall breeze came past the window.

The black box was talking - a radio.  A radio with a woman's voice talking about The World Trade Center.  Why?  Why?  It's something I knew about, something I'd heard in 3rd grade - truck. basement. bomb.  Was today the anniversary of that attack?  That wast he most pressing piece of news they could talk about today?  And... why was a radio on...at all?

The second I heard a man say, PLANE, I knew that it wasn't the same.  That something was very, very wrong.  That I couldn't talk to Nicole anymore, but turn my body completely the opposite direction, over my desk and towards that open window, straining to make sense of the words coming from my left.  A ripple effect; within 2 minutes, all 30 of us are silent, looking at Doc, waiting, expecting.

Doc, impossibly smaller than he's ever been, legs crossed, arms folded, eyes red and the bottoms drooping impossibly lower than his old age already causes.  Heartbroken.  In shock, even.  A slight look up, and then,
"This is happening now".

The rest of the day is hushed information and hugs and television watching.  Over and over and over and over slam slam slam slam.  It never makes any more sense.  An accident?  That can't be an accident.  An attack? From who? What's the reason?  Why New York?

Reports coming in - Sarah's dad is fine, but she's going home anyway.  A town over, they can see the flames and smoke from the football field (we're spared that). People jumping.  People covered in ash, disorientedly trying to walk across all the bridges to get home.  The city shut down.  Nicole's dad is okay - his work is just far enough away that he's shaken up, but not directly hurt.  The fire will burn for months.  No one can know if there are people still in the rubble that are alive; I certainly can't imagine what I would do if I was buried in that terror, unsure of anything.  I don't think I talked the rest of that Tuesday (today's Tuesday).  No words felt right.

Everyone is crushed.  Even the most happy person is subdued - no laughing anywhere in a building of 4,000 + teenagers and their enigmatic teachers.  Even the oblivious seem to know that normal left hours ago, before we had a clue what was happening (fourth period beginning at about 10:10, the planes  having already crashed, the South tower already collapsed).  Fear  has so many people by the throat.

Home is more of the same.  Since we didn't have class the rest of the day, just going into assigned rooms and watching video of destruction ad nauseam, there is no homework to do, not that we could have.  Just hours of news watching and praying and wondering and calling everyone I knew in lower Manhattan and Brooklyn.   Betty's cousin isn't found yet - she's so worried for him (she has a right to be - he never comes home).  Barbara's son is missing.  Interviews  with people who made it outside - survivor's guilt already setting in.  Interviews with strong members of FDNY and the NYPD, their eyes shiny as they realize just how big all of this is.  Speculation of motive, of organizer.

No one knows what to do.

Is more coming?

Numbness through Friday morning.  Waking up (slightly; not much sleep has been happening) to my alarm and hearing the emotion and pain in my beloved DJ's voice.  Crying for the first time since I heard Doc's radio.  I can't make sense of anything.  Going to school, and continuing to just hug everyone.  People I don't know.  Anyone who looks like they need a hug is fair game - the whole school seems to have adopted the same 'open-hug' policy.  I don't need to know your name, you don't need to know mine, we just need to care about each other.

Where did that feeling go?  As the elections come in 2 months, and everyone is throwing everyone under the bus and 'hates' the other, where is who you were 11 years ago, when your neighbor's politics were not important, but you'd do anything for their mental state and to help them as a person?

September 11th will always be a very hard, extremely emotional day for me.  There is no getting around that. I don't want to go around that. I will never forget.  I will never listen to anyone who tells me to 'get over it'. I will never understand 9/11 'jokes' in any capacity, and will confront people who think they are impressing ANYONE with them.  I will forever stand up for my Muslim and Arab friends who had NOTHING to do with one man's plan, and fight against stereotypes that anyone of that background is capable of evil (do ANY groups exist where all members follow the stereotype? NO).  And I will never understand why.
 
 
 

   
Isang Madilim na Araw

Isang Madilim na Araw 

 

May mga araw talagang ganito: parang nagkaroon ng isang matinding pagkakampi-kampi ang mga kamalasan at inuulan ka ng kapalpakan.  Kanina pa ako nalulungkot dahil sa isang balitang aking narinig. Nakipagkita ako sa isang kaibigan at sya man ay may kalumbayan.  Hindi talaga magandang pagsamahin ang dalawang taong wala sa hulog.  Para kaming dalawang ibong sugatan na pilit ginagamot ang mga sugat sa katawan.  Imaginin mo ang dalawang lasing na parehong pageway-geway kung maglakad at walang patutunguhan ang mga hakbang.  Pag mamalasin ka, baka sa kangkungan ka pa pulutin. Or worse, sa jebs ng kalabaw. :p

 

Dala ko hanggang sa pagpasok ang lungkot. Napabili tuloy ako ng ice cream nang wala sa oras.  Comfort food ko yon: wala naman kasing kumakain ng ice cream ang umiiyak.  Saka diba pag pinatatahan ang isang bata, karaniwan ng panuhol ng magulang ang lollipop, sorbetes, laruan.  Minsan ashumera din ako at nagpi-feeling bata.  Malay mo naman, mauto ang sarili kong tumawa. :p

 

Bakit ba ganon ang buhay? Minsan babatuhan ka ng lifeline, ipapakita sa iyo ang pag-asa pero paglipas lang ng ilang oras, naabo na ang naaaninag mong sagot sa problema.  Minsan pag minalas ka, sunod-sunod: yun bang parang kahit ano ang gawin mo e hindi tama/palpak/mali. Binato ka na ng malas, hahagisan ka pa ng lungkot. At pwede ba namang magpatalo si self-pity? Hoy buhay na buhay sya at nagme-major major paramdam sa mga ganoong panahon.  At kung pareho tayo ng ugali, hindi mo rin naman sasabihin sa mga taong malapit sa iyo ang anomang bumabagabag sa iyo.  Hindi mo masasabi ang specific na bagay na nagpapalungkot, sasabihin mo lang, nalulungkot ka. Wala bang isang mahigpit na yakap dyan? Pahingi naman, para kasi akong malulugmok sa lungkot. Alam mo yung literal na kinakain ng dalamhati ang puso mo? Parang ganoon ang nararamdaman ko. Para akong nauupos na kandila na pag iniwan mo sa isang tabi ay maaaring mamatay ang sindi at hindi na magliwanag.  Ang bigat naman sa dibdib nito at parang gustong bumalong ang luha ko. Teka muna teh, nasa opisina ako at wala akong balak na umiyak dito no.  Hindi ko style yun!  Kahit pa gustong-gusto ko ng umiyak, hindi ako iiyak dito.  Never.  Kahit kailan.  Sana may makita akong nakakatawang bagay para mapangiti ako.  Sige na, isa lang.  Para naman gumanda na ang aura ng araw ko.  Ang liwa-liwanag ng sikat ng araw e parang nalalambungan ng madilim at maitim na ulap ang paligid ko. Huwag ganoon.  Ampeyr yun.  Bawal malungkot. Bawal sumimangot. Bawal maiyak. Bawal. Kasi wala akong balak magbigay ng rason sa kalungkutan ko. Wala akong balak na mag-explain.  Ano sila, sinuswerte?  Hindi na oy, ngingiti na lang ako sa harap nila.  Magbibitaw ng mga katatawanan.  At mamaya, mawawala na rin naman to.  Sana mamaya na.  Para wala na ito.

 

Nagmaganda na naman pala ako. Ang haba ng nobela ko.  O ayan ha, tumigil ka na lungkot. Pinasikat na kita ng major major ngayong araw na to.  Layuan mo na ko, please?  Sarado-kandado-nawala-na-ang-susi at wala-namang-duplicate-key ang pinto ng puso ko ngayon.  Kaya, tsupi sadness.  Hindi ka welcome.  Iisnabin muna kita.  Goodbye and good riddance! :p

 

/em

062911wed.

 
 
   
 

No Date

No Date

 

May mga araw na walang pangalan –

Hindi importante ang petsa

O ang lagay ng panahon

Ngunit tumatatak ang araw na iyon

Dahil noon mo naramdaman

Ang lungkot o saya,

Ang tagumpay o kabiguan,

Ang tamis o pait.

Minsan may araw na hindi mo alam

Kung paano mo titignan –

Ito ba ay araw ng pagpapala o kakulangan?

Araw ng paghalakhak o pag-iyak?

Araw ng paglalakbay o pagpapahinga?

Minsan may araw na walang pangalan

Minsan may araw na ansakit-sakit

Parang dinudurog ang puso mo

Sa tindi ng kalungkutan

O halos hindi mo na marinig ang sarili mo

Sa lakas ng lungkot na bumabangon sa dibdib.

Minsan may araw na walang pangalan,

Minsan may lumbay na walang luha

Pero mabigat sa dibdib

Na ultimo paghakbang ay hindi mo magawa

Dahil nakakapagod na,

Nakakapanghina,

Nakakapanlugmok.

Walang pangalan ang araw na ito,

Walang dimensyon,

Walang depinisyon.

Minsan talaga ganoon.

Minsan talaga ganyan.

Kasi ganon.

 

/em

041411thurs.

 
 
 

   
Andrea.
The woman who I have been filling in for this year took her life today.  She's been very sick for a long time; was doing so well around Christmas, and then in February or so relapsed.  We don't know anything; it's not even officially confirmed yet, but..........

Chuck walked into our room at 2:30 or so, and his face was white and he looked so serious.  He saw Lisa's daughter on the computer, but she had headphones on watching a movie, so that was okay.  He went over and told Kevin, and based on Kevin's reaction I knew it was beyond serious.  And he told Beth and Lori and I and it just felt like a truck had hit me.  We're all just...I don't know the word for it.  It hits me and then goes away - I don't think I've fully processed it, yet.  The positive thing was this sense of community and love for each other - in the library after Jeanine's emotional speech, in the 3/4 hallway... it's everything I'd want to see when something like this happens.  Tim was pretty distraught, but Gillian...oh G-d.  And Louise was here, too.  Gillian lives on her street; she and Emma often drive C and M to school.

What are C and M experiencing right now?  I can't imagine being a 5th grader and a 4th grader and knowing my mother would no longer be around.  I'm nauseous just imagining what that's like. And they're both such GOOD, SWEET kids, too.  It was yesterday morning that they were outside Gillian's room before 8 and Irene and I offered them a game of checkers to occupy their half hour before school started, and I was ribbing C because he claimed he didn't know how to play.

Gillian was visiting Andrea yesterday, and went to give her a hug goodbye and Andrea wouldn't let go.  And she had a dream about something like this, and was up all night.  I need to find a way to reach out to her; she's been our front line for most of this; I can't fathom what's going on in her life right now.

I haven't even known this for 4 hours yet?  4 hours ago life was normal?  I feel like I've turned 30 already (I was 26 this morning, but today, this afternoon has felt like years).

Time for quiet.  Hug and kiss as many loved ones as you can.

Emily
 
 
   
 

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