Today, I think maybe, the title says it all.
Last week, I turned 26-years old. Since then, I’ve found it hard to do almost anything, and I don’t think that this false spring we’re going through here in Illinois has anything to do with it. I might be a walking migraine, and my pain levels are through the roof but, aside from that I’m just kind of depressed.
This was the first birthday without my mom. So, I knew that I’d be feeling some type of way about it but, I didn’t expect to be feeling it this hard. Especially when you think back to last year, where this was the last normal week of our lives, and we didn’t even know it. Then Covid-19 hit, and the world went crazy. During that time however, my life was falling apart.
My mom was my absolute best friend. I took care of her, and she took care of me. We played games together, and we had shows that we’d sit down and watch together every week. Now, I find it hard to look at a TV for more than five minutes because if a cooking show comes on, I’m already running out the door, or changing the channel.
I say it constantly. I’ll bring up that there’s “no point” in writing if she can’t hold that first book with my name on it. There’s no point if I can’t make her proud of me. There’s no point. I can’t. I’ve tried. I’m trying. But those are all lies that I tell myself, so I don’t have to do something that hurts, or something that’s hard.
The truth is, I’ve been distancing myself from the things that I love because a part of me feels like I don’t deserve to be happy. I don’t deserve to drown myself in books and writing and music or immerse myself in the things I love because I feel guilty for letting my mother die. I feel guilty for being the one who found her. I feel guilty for not making her stop smoking, no matter how hard I tried. I don’t want to lose another person to cancer. I don’t want to be the one who finds my grandmother dead. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to feel this, any of this because feeling it hurts.
So, I’m going to be better.
If I don’t want to write, I’m still going to force myself to write one sentence. After that one sentence, I’ll make myself write another one, until I have at least 100 words on the page a day. I don’t care if those words are for a blog post, or one of my WIPs, as long as I have words down, it’ll be good enough for me.
If I don’t want to read, I’ll still force myself to do it anyways. Even if it’s only five pages, or five small articles on Facebook.
I’m going to start forcing myself to be me again, even if I don’t want to. Even if it hurts. Because my mother didn’t just roll over and die, like I’ve been doing. She fought like hell because that’s just who she was. Maybe she didn’t always do the right things, and maybe she could be unbearable sometimes but, what I’m doing isn’t good for anyone.
So, I’ll get up, and I’ll force myself to keep going.
And I will make her so fucking proud of me.
-Sky
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