I had a dream that I was running, running fast. Through muddy puddles, crying, wanting nothing but to be home. But the home in my head isn't the one I see now. The home I wanted to go to was one where there had been many bad memories, memories I often forget, but somehow never leave my mind. Tacky floral tile floors stained with exhales from nicotine gums. A tiny fridge placed in the corner of the room with no food, only alcohol, possibly some spoiled milk in the very back. A dark maroon rug, or maybe it was orange, and a brown couch. Most of the tables were milk crates. My room was a small porch where the cigarette...
I wanted to write about my fondest memory of her, because I feel as though I’ve been upset for who my mother has become for too long. Instead I’d like to remember my mother as this beautiful woman, this beautifully broken woman I remember as a child, which I know she still is.
I hope that Brennan has all of the answers now though, that he is in peace, and isn't struggling anymore. I have no idea what happens after death, but I hope that there is some clarity, because all of this.... just doesn't seem "fair" …. but maybe I should have tried harder than I did.
Some days I just want to curl up in this hole I’ve dug myself in. Before I know it I've dug the hole even deeper than it was before. It’s not easy on days like this. Days that you know you shouldn’t be sitting in your room watching reruns of the Dr. Phil show, eating boxes of double stuffed Oreos and crying yourself to sleep, but you do it all anyway. Waking up to a face full of acne and a stomach ache, you scrape your sweaty body out of your sunken in bed and get ready for another day of trying to hold in tears at work.