Let's Try This Again

Trigger Warning: Talk of self-harm and suicide in Paragraph 3 only. Please skip it if you need to.

I haven’t written on here in forever. That doesn’t mean I haven’t written anything, believe me. I still write my fanfiction stories, I write little essays for myself, and I’ve started writing things down for my nephews as well. I also did a 52-week writing course which I absolutely loved. Writing publicly, however, is always more of a risk. It’s a more vulnerable position to be in.

The last thing I wrote on this site was January 4th, 2023, and I said how 2022 was a rough year for me and I was hoping 2023 would be better. Well, a couple of weeks after I wrote that sentence, 2023 decided to kick my entire family right in the teeth. I’ve heavily debated writing about this out of respect to my family. Some of them read this site and I never want to hurt or upset them but I also want to write about it because it’s important. Important to me and important to other people.

January of 2023, my Uncle tried to take his own life. His siblings had to make the impossible decision to take him off life support. My family has experienced a lot of death over the years because my Mom’s side of the family is so large. This death hit the hardest though for a lot of them, if not most of them. I’m not going to spend this whole post talking about it, only the next two paragraphs and they will only talk about his life, not his death. Feel free to skip them if you want.

My Uncle was a great man. He had his demons and vices, as we all do, but he was so much fun and one of the most generous people you’d ever meet in your life. Each of my cousins have their own favorite memories of him and I won’t speak for them. I have my own great memories of him. Canoeing, horseback riding (okay that one sucked, I fell but whatever), paintballing, amusement parks, white water rafting etc. It was always an amazing time when my Uncle came to visit and I’ll never forget those adventures with him.

He always told me about ziplining in Costa Rica. Last year, September 2023, I went ziplining in the Poconos for my birthday and in memory of him. It was a blast and I hope to do it again and again over the years when I travel to different places. It’s in those moments, the moments when I’m terrified before I’m about to do something new, that I’ll remember him the most and push myself to do those new things.

Honestly, I didn’t have much of a plan when I decided to sit down and write today. Not sure if there was a purpose or a point to it, other than wanting to write something. Here’s what I know. I know 2023 took a lot from my Mom and her family. I know that as someone who struggles with depression and anxiety, it is immensely important to check in on your people. Especially, the people who seem as if they’re doing great. Ask anyway, check in anyway, meet up with them anyway.

I had a sickening realization recently: I’ll probably never go another year of my life without going to a funeral. I hate that. It seems ridiculous and unbelievable but inevitable. If that’s true, for myself, for you, for anyone reading this, do whatever you can to enjoy the people in your life now. Text, call, send a card, go see them, set up a dinner, go to lunch, do something.

They’re important. You’re important.

They matter. You matter. I matter.

They deserve to be here. You deserve to be here. We ALL deserve to be here.

Try to remember that on your darkest days.

I’m here. I’m still going. It’s 2024. Let’s try this again. This year, I’m putting it out into the universe, this year will be different. This year will be better. This year will be happier. Maybe not every moment. Not every day. Hell, maybe not even every week. But this year, as a whole, will be better because I’m choosing to make it so.

I hope you all do the same.

The Outsiders

It’s been a while since I’ve written here. Almost exactly a year which is wild. 2022 was an extremely rough year for me. I’m hoping 2023 will be better; I’m trying to put it into the universe that 2023 will definitely be better.

I wish I was more consistent with writing on this site but I’m still trying to find my voice and trying to decide exactly what it is I want to say. I’ve joined a 52 week writing course to help me with this. Of course, sometimes I’ll do three or four of the prompts in one day and then not do any for three weeks but it doesn’t matter because I’m writing.

In this week’s prompt, it spoke about possessions. Prized possessions from different points in my life. Then the very last part of the prompt asked for a short essay from the point of view of a special object. The first thing I thought of was my twenty-year-old copy of The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton. I thought this was a pretty neat thing to do and it’s the first piece of writing I’ve done in a while that I wanted to share. Even if it’s only with the few people who subscribe to my site. Here it is. A (VERY) short essay from the point of you of my favorite book that I bought when I was 13.

Being picked from the bookstore is the best day of my life. Sure, it’s a short, kinda chubby, nerdy girl who grabs me and brings me home but that’s better than sitting on the shelf in the store forever. She picks me because her 8th grade English teacher said she had to, no offense taken, that’s how a lot of us books are picked. I hear from other people in the house that my new owner is named Veronica.

Veronica reads me so fast. She can’t put me down. Absorbing the plot, the characters, and enamored by the fact that the story begins and ends with the exact same sentence. She can’t believe it. She didn’t realize you could do that with writing. When she finishes with me, she puts me on a shelf then rents the movie version of me. Thus begins her obsession.

She watches the movie countless times, she reads me at least once a year, my pages getting weak and a little yellow but it’s worth it to see the look on her face. To bring her comfort on those nights when she comes home crying. Or where she stays home because she has nowhere else to go. Loneliness clings to her over the years. A sadness that always seems to ease when she picks me up or when she puts in our movie. A sadness that comes and goes in waves. This room where she keeps me is her my favorite place. The place she spends most of her time and I watch her as she brings her friend Kait over every Thursday to watch Supernatural. I watch as she puts up a black and white poster of the cast of The Outsiders. I watch as all the posters change over the years but not ours. Ours always stays right above the TV, right where she can see it from every angle of the room.

I’m there for her when she needs me the most. When it feels like she’s completely alone in the world, she picks me up and reads me again and again. We eventually moved from her favorite room to a place of her own. She puts me on the top shelf of the bookcase, the shelf where she keeps her favorite novels. She never loans me out to anyone, never wanting them to ruin me. Only her hands can hold me, only her fingers can flip my pages, only her eyes get to read my words a thousand times.

We moved from one apartment to another, and then to her first home. Every time she packs me with care, then I’m one of the first things she unpacks, and I’m always on the top shelf of the bookcase. She goes longer now without reading me, it hurts in a way, but honestly, I’m happy about it. It means she doesn’t need me as much. It means she has a fuller life now. She’s not sitting in the loneliness of her room with only me as her comfort.

It means, she’s no longer an outsider.

Eight Days into the New Year

I’m not sure what will come from me sitting down at my laptop and writing straight from my brain for the first time in a long time. Hell, it might be a random stream of consciousness that makes no sense to me or anyone else.

2022. I can’t believe it’s the year 2022. I can’t believe I’m thirty-two years old. Most of the time I still feel like I’m 17.

The truth is, I’ve always been a cynic. It’s hard to believe in good things when the world and the media shows you nothing but the terrible. I’m trying though, I’ve been trying my hardest not to be as negative. I’ve been trying to hold out hope for the world, for my life, for the lives of those around me. It’s hard. The last two years have been brutal. The pandemic, the anxiety, the depression. It sinks us deeper and deeper with every minute we have to sit in our houses. Especially on those of us who were already dealing with anxiety and depression before 2020.

I’ve always had a weird thing with death. I don’t want to call it an obsession because it doesn’t run my life. But there are times when it runs my thoughts for longer than I’d like. I’m not saying I’m suicidal. I’m not. In fact, I’m exactly the opposite. I’m absolutely terrified of death. Or maybe it’s not the act of dying I’m terrified of but the thought of what happens next.

Growing up Catholic, I was told “be good, you’ll go to heaven”. Well, I stopped believing in God when I was around 13/14. Where does that leave those of us who gave up on religion and higher powers? I’ll tell you where it leaves me: lying in bed every night thinking of this ultimate darkness. This big empty space.

Most of my friends are atheists and they’re very rational and logical in their thinking. They believe when you die, that’s it, you cease to exist, you’re in the ground. The end. That way of thinking scares the shit out of me. How can it be possible that we go through all of this pain and heartbreak in life and all we get at the end of it is nothing? What was the point?

Is there a point?

I know I’ve talked about this before. My lack of faith, my fear of nothingness. However, with the pandemic, and the shootings running rampant in Philadelphia, it’s on my mind a lot more than I’d like. Those shootings, those sudden deaths, I have a hard time reconciling those in my mind. Those people are standing on the street, talking, laughing with their friends and the next second, they’re gone. How does anyone deal with this?

Most people probably don’t think about it as often as I do. Most people can distract themselves. Unfortunately, I’m not most people. Once my brain latches onto an idea, it takes a near miracle for me not to run it through my mind until I’ve thought of every possible scenario. I genuinely envy people who have faith. Whatever they have faith in, whatever their religion is, I envy how they can believe it and trust it completely.

One person in particular comes to my mind. Late-night host Stephen Colbert. Stephen has always been vocal about his belief in God. He’s also someone who has been through true tragedy in his life. I love listening to him talk to other celebrities who think differently than he does. Ricky Gervais is a very outspoken atheist. Andrew Garfield seems to more on a spiritual level and has the belief that we’ll never know anything for sure. Stephen is never judgmental towards these people. He’s open and his discussions with them are thoughtful and honest. If only we could all speak to each other with the same level of respect.

I guess I’m wondering, if you’ve given up on organized religion and the idea of a one true “God”, what else can you have faith in? When people ask me if I’m religious or if I still follow Catholicism, I say I’m not religious, but I like to believe I’m spiritual. This is true. I might not believe in pearly gates or saints or angels or whatever else the Bible publicizes but I do believe the people we’ve lost aren’t completely gone. I think I have to believe this. I have to believe the family I’ve lost is still around.

Is it enough though? Is a vague belief in spirituality enough to push me through? Is it enough to keep me going? Is it enough to calm my mind at the end of the day? Is it enough to believe when I’m gone that I won’t be completely gone? Is that how I’m going to make the idea of death okay? Sixteen years of Catholic school and thirty-two years on this planet and I still have no idea.

Rationally, I know none of this matters. Not in the grand scheme of things because once we’re gone, none of this debate, none of this wondering will mean anything. I have no control over any of this. Which is probably why I’m so fixated on trying to understand. I don’t do well when things are out of my control.

What matters, what truly matters, is what we do on this earth while we have the time. I know this, logically. But how much time do we have left? How much time do we spend doing frivolous things? Or maybe nothing is frivolous if it’s something you enjoy. I enjoy going to the movies, I’m not changing the world, but I’m happy in those two hours in a darkened theater. Is that okay? It has to be, right? It’s my life and it is literally the only one I have so shouldn’t I fill it with things I love? Or should we be filling our lives by doing for others or trying to make small changes in the world?

Perhaps it’s both. In doing for others, in making those small changes, you can also find happiness within yourself.

The truth is, I have no idea why we’re here. Or where we’ll be when we leave. Sometimes that unknown won’t let me sleep at night.

I apologize if I’ve sent some of you into an existential crisis on this Saturday morning, eight days into the new year. However, I’m also unapologetic because I know I can’t be alone in all of this. If my questioning makes you feel less alone then I’m glad I wrote this. I’m also glad I wrote this because it means it’s out of my head for a while and I can go on with my day.

If you want to share your thoughts on these topics, please feel free to do so in the comment section. If you do have faith, if you do believe in something bigger than yourself, please hold onto it. Take comfort in it. Never let it go because once you do, it’s incredibly difficult to try and find it again.