V - the story of: weepy
Sunday, January 25, 2009

« weepy »

I'm not sure why.

I don't really know when it started, but I've been filled with an inexplicable sorrow recently. I sat on the bus, and my life didn't really amount to anything. It took a while to sink in. When it did, I was left completely hollow. On the verge of constructing an archetypal emo account, I had lost meaning in everything. With these broken pieces of who I am, or was, anyway...I hadn't a clue what to do. Where to go. Independance was a chore and I had lost all of that positive jazz. It was a moment of perfect clarity...that I wasn't really myself. That I had no life goal, or any place to go to. That I wasn't really sure when it would end, or where I should begin.

And I still don't.

I wanted to shut my eyes everytime they opened. The perfect blink...your eyes HAVE to open...yet, I force them to close...and in tandum, I plod on. Everytime I open my eyes, one thing I'm reminded of is that Mum isn't around. And it hits ever harder, sinking deeper and deeper, where despair just sinks in and I crumple to my knees in a mess of guilt, grief and goodness-knows-what-else. Every time I smile, or I see my brother and his greasy hair, or the way my sister shouts at my Dad for wearing things like he's fresh off the boat everytime we want to go out...I realise that we're compromising. We've moved on. We've chipped a piece off of ourselves and mixed it into the pool of rememberance...trying to piece Mum up from the little bits we offer.

But it's no good. I feel like breaking. I miss her so much, my hair will bleed all its life out and I turn ash white from this mental trauma I put myself through. That salvation, fellowship, ministry and all that jazz, it's interwoven with her...and that life is so, much harder now.

As I turn the corner, I realize, I'm so, so weary...that I understand why our hearts sink and we lose spirit as we plod on. That joy manifests in different ways...

That when I hug, share the laughter, kick the ball or strum the guitar, that's when I miss you. These agony pangs pop up and knock on my door oh so often, chipping away at me, just when I thought I was ok.

I'm such a damn hypocrite.

Because that's when I miss you.

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