Sometimes, I wonder if, as an ordinary human being who has breathed this earthly air, walked on the lap of the most inhabitable part of the universe, at least that we know of, and written a diary with absolutely no good in it, I have the fate to find, after my tragic demise, that my little baby has been published and called “The extra-ordinary life of a stylishly thriving, but now dead, dumb teen”!
Yes, that’s right. After I flutter out of this uncanny cage called “the atmosphere of planet earth” that I have managed to make myself home at for the past 16 years, I wish to at least have people know how stylishly dumb I was. While I highly doubt that is going to happen, there’s no harm in reminding myself that if someone ever reads these digital pages filled with simple yet valueless words, I would not want to be embarrassed.
This late afternoon, as I sit at my sunlight stricken desk, I wish to find solace and peace in order to be able to write my heart out before I forget about this online journal again for another dozen fortnights.
“Changes”. That is correct. I have witnessed, experienced, noticed and enforced changes. And excited, bold, funny and merry as I may sound and seem, I am exactly the opposite of what my words portray.
My mother died. It’s been over a month now. It feels unreal. I have absolutely no words to describe how I feel every time I think about it. Let’s just say I try as much as this wretched heart of mine allows me, to not bring the images of the moment we lost her, to my stupid brain that just doesn’t fucking listen.
It’s hard. And it’s never been harder. I know I am still talking even after saying I have no words but I can’t help it. It’s like I have lost all control over myself.
Every second, I can feel something literally stabbing a part of me that I didn’t know was so vulnerable to getting hurt, until I lost mum. I write about it but it’s like words have forgotten how to make it stop hurting. Because I know they are that powerful. but they are not working.
If there was a vision of the world around you “dissolving”, I think it would be this. This feeling of everything turning into nothing. This incapability of being able to differentiate between thinking of doing something and actually doing it. Of being able to tell if you are in a dream or if this is what life has been like, forever.
Like if I died right now, I wouldn’t be able to tell what killed me. Because everywhere, it’s just pain.
I know I should be remembering mum, writing about her instead of myself, but I…I don’t know. I don’t want to feel anything. Maybe I am just trying to do that. But I still feel guilty. I feel guilty writing about how I feel.
And the most devastating part is, this is not the end. Someone will die again. And another person next. And people will keep dying. Because that is just how merciless, that is just how natural life is.
To this, my mind responds- “….and people will keep dying….unless I die first”.
It’s a cycle -inevitable. It’s fate -irreversible. It’s probably the only thing unchangeable -the fact the people are born to die.
Enough of that. I am here to talk about more than just the unshakable sorrow that I hold within myself and that everyone who truly loved mum, does.
Life is challenging. I have learned it through experiences I wasn’t expecting. But I guess that is the best way to learn about them, isn’t it?
First with my studies, then with mum’s deteriorating health, then with….my unstoppable overthinking and declining motivation, I genuinely feel like if I don’t grab the cloud of tension, unwilling to condense, by it’s goddamn neck and drive out all that it has inside, I will lose it all.
With just two more minutes in hand, I will have to discontinue my entry here.
This was written on the 1st of October 2020, thirty nine days after the death of my mother. I have been trying to pull myself up and write about what happened but I failed to find the courage to address the internet with the motive of writing about something like this. I could not find any way to share this tragedy with the family I have here other than copy- pasting an entry from my personal diary.
I am not looking for sympathy or consolation from anyone and I would appreciate it if that is respected.
I know I am not alone in this, that people understand and knowing that is everything I need. So, thank you for listening.
If you ever need to talk to someone, or even just have someone listen to anything you want to get off your chest, you can write to me through the “Contact Me” page on this blog. I will listen. To everything.