Rosie's Writing

 

I’m 16 today. Today I’m older. Today is another step in life. What if I don’t want it? What if I want it to stop or slow down or speed up? Does the world not care about how I feel? Obviously not. I’m tired. I’ve been hurt by friends. Friends who manipulated me. They said they cared but there was no respect in their friendships. I’ve been hurt through her death. She isn’t here to see me. She isn’t here to make life better. It all hurts. I wish my friends would ask me about my grief. At some point they stopped asking. It’s like they stopped noticing. I wish… I wish I  could have stopped her death. What does the world want from me? World what do you want! Is it not enough to take my sister! Is it not enough for me to spend my time in tears and barely breathing! Is that not enough for you? When will it be enough? When will I stop being attacked? Look at me… look at my arms! Do you see how bare they are? There are days where it’s hard to keep them that way. I’m not writing to show you the angels in my grief. I’m writing to show you the demons. I’ve wanted to hurt myself and yet the world demands more. It demands that I fit in. It demands that I keep fear away. It demands that I dress a certain way. It demands that I act a certain way. I am me! No one can take away the hurt and the tears and the depression and the anxiety and the grief. No one. I’m screaming in a crowd of people and it’s almost like no one notices. I have to grieve. I have to work. I have to finish school. Those aren’t options. I have to live. But how can I live when my head is screaming and my hands are shaking and my heart aches? How can I live when there’s a hole in my heart and it’s bleeding? How can I keep going when I can’t “let her go”? How? Someone tell me how… because I don’t know. My grief follows me. It lurks in the shadows. It haunts me. Somedays I wield my grief like a weapon. Somedays it wields me.

Happy birthday.

Birthday.

Sad birthday.

Wishful birthday.

Another birthday.

No.

Unwilling.

Don’t want it.

Not excited.

Tired.

School.

She’s not here.

Where?

Why?

Why…

Gone.

Please no.

I want her back.

Give her back.

Now.

No.

Wait.

Keep her.

She’s happy now.

But I need her.

Stop.

Just stop.

Stop thinking.

Stop wanting.

Stop holding on.

Let it be.

Let go.

Keep on.

It’s nearly my birthday.

Please don’t ignore me 

Please don’t.

My mind questions everything when you do.

Is something wrong?

Did I say something?

What’s happening?

 I blame the anxiety.

I overthink everything that happens. 

I go through every possible scenario.

My heart feels heavy.

My breathing becomes harder.

I begin to think there’s something wrong with me.

That maybe you’ve seen something in me that makes me no good.

I can’t stop it. 

I don’t want to overthink.

But I do.

So please don’t ignore me.

She is everywhere.

She is in everything.

Everything is done for her.

Everything is named in her honor.

I just want to live my life.

I want to name things because I love it.

Not because she did.

I want to do something because I want to.

Not because she would want to.

I love my sister.

But I want to do things for me.

Not just her.

Depression.

Anxiety.

They have power.

Power that runs deeply through us.

Depression is when you’re standing in a crowded room and feel like absolutely no one is there.

Depression is when you have the best friends and family and you don’t feel like you can go to any of them.

Depression is not selfish.

Depression is lack of self love.

Depression has the power to distort your vision on your own life.

It takes your life and makes you think it’s meaningless.

It makes you feel hopeless. 

It makes you feel… alone. 

No matter how many people are around you you’ll feel alone. 

And if you have anxiety on top of depression you could want to go to someone but not because you’re too afraid of what they’ll say.

Anxiety makes you overthink. 

Anxiety makes you fearful. 

It locks you in. 

You overthink the simplest things.

Like catching a frisbee. 

Anxiety takes your insecurities and increases them by 10.

Anxiety. 

Depression.

They have power. 

My heart pounds. 

It sounds loud. 

I can’t breathe.

The air is leaving me.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry. 

Stop this please.

Grief leave me be!

Just let me be…

You gave me this anxiety. 

You are stealing my breath from me.

Give it back…

Just stop.

Please.

The one thing you should never have to do is bury a child. I miss my sister so much more than you would think. People see me and I believe they see a girl. Just a girl. Not a girl who is suffering. Just one who is smiling and laughing. I am in pain everyday over my sister. I smile through the pain. I smile because I do everything I can to be strong for family and friends. I do a better job at hiding my pain than I thought.

My sister… my sister is not here anymore. It sucks when I realize I’m taking care of my sister in the ground. I wish I could hear her laugh. I wish I could see her smile. I miss her. I miss her so damn much. It feels like my heart is broken. She was only 10 and I planned out our entire life together. I planned for her to be here when I got my first boyfriend. I planned for her to be there when I got married and had my first kid. She would be 13 next year. May 19th is her birthday. She would have been 13 years old. 13. A teenager. She was growing up and I didn’t see it. In my head she wasn’t all grown up. In my head she was my baby sister. My sister. I never stopped seeing her as this kid that I loved dearly.

I’m going to be 16 on August 21st. It’s my second birthday without my sister. Every year she’d give me a hand written card or a stuffed animal she owned. I didn’t think I’d miss that. But I do. I’ll be 16… another step in my life without her.

I’ll be ok. It hurts like hell but I’ll make it.

Here I am.

I am here. 

I am here in front of a door.

An exit door.

Behind me lurks my fears.

My doubts.

The door is there.

Just four steps away.

My feet feel glued.

I cannot move, only watch.

Watch and listen as my fears and doubts whisper in my ear.

“Exit” I think. 

“Just do it. Walk out. Leave the fears behind. Abandon the doubts.”

I try and I try but I cannot move.

“I’m sorry” I whisper. 

 A tear rolls down my face.

 “I’m sorry I can’t do better.”

 The exit continues to call me. 

 I take a deep breath and try once again. 

 I take one step. Just one.

But it’s all I need to get closer to the exit. 

Grief is confusing. It hurts. I’ve spent a lot of time asking God where he is and screaming my feelings at him. I’ve only ever told one person other than my mom what I ask God. I don’t write to make you pity me. I write to show you what it’s like in my life, in my head with grief. My way of doing that right now is by writing a letter to God. 

Dear God,

      Why? Why now? Why me? I need her. I need her here why… why would you take her from me? She was only 10! Why… why would you take her? I need her here God! Why would you do this to me! I don’t understand. I don’t understand why she’s gone. I don’t understand why you’re letting me hurt so much. Where are you! Why can’t I see you! Why did you leave me… please help me. God please, please help me. I can’t do this. I’m so tired of being strong. I’m so tired of being angry. I’m sorry…. I’m so sorry. I can’t help but be angry. You could have stopped her death and you didn’t and I can’t help but be angry at you for not doing anything. I’m sorry. I need you. I can’t see you anywhere and I know you’re there, I just can’t see. I feel so alone. I’m sorry… I’m sorry… please help me. Please… 

I have no shame in showing you this. I’m not perfect. I scream. I cry. I beg. Not all my conversations with God are calm and full of worship. Many of them are full of pain and begging God to hold me in his arms where it’s safe. To protect me from the pain. I know he’s there. I know he can see me and I know he hears me. And I know he still loves me.