Schlagwort: family

Sometimes I still think this cannot have been real. His death still seems surreal to me.

He would have turned 24 now. He died at 20, as the oldest one of us at that time. Now I am 21.

Now I am 21 and I am showing interests that he had and that I admired and I am not ever even thinking about becoming like him even though objectively it feels like I am sometimes, such as in this very moment, and that becoming of mine makes us, his aunt and his mother and me, all grow.

(Writing this feels like this is the most disrespectful opinion I have ever had about my family, and I hate myself for parts of this.)

It still does not feel real. He is just gone for a while, studying abroad, I tell myself sometimes, and sometimes it feels like that, but then other times it feels like he has simply never been there, here, with me. My memory of him feels like it’s fading. His voice is still there in my mind, but how we interacted… I do not remember much of it. I just remember looking up to him, aching for his approval, but I did not even know him.

His connection to everyone else is so real to me, but his connection to me has never felt like it existed at all.

Now an interest in films and TV shows and Fall Out Boy feel like his legacy to me, which they are really not, they are mine now, became mine individually, and I still cannot understand it all.

I can’t believe it. Eight days ago, my cousin, favourite member of my family and the only one born before me, was run over by a car and died at the age of 20. I then had to leave home for a week for a class trip to London, which was terrible, and now I’m home and nobody told me about his funeral – I just found out that I was yesterday via his sister’s tumblr.

My empathy for his siblings and his parents is killing me, so I have shut it off.

The family still isn’t over my sister’s death almost two decades ago.

I have overheard the telephone call, I have heard my mum try to speak, “Oh Scheiße. Oh Gott, oh Gott, oh Gott oh Gott oh Gott…”

His mother could barely stand seeing him losing a lot of weight due to stress at university three months ago because she could “see him disappear” and enthusiastically nursed him back to health after he had moved back in with his family.

We all live in the same city, we meet at least once every month and ususally eight times in October, November and December.

My eighteenth birthday is in five days. I can’t be anything but selfish now that I have killed my empathy.

This will be hell.

Rant

Went to my cousin’s birthday party and almost had yet another breakdown because of, oh well, anxiety problems.

The rest of the evening did not go much better.

Yes, I know I ate too much. I didn’t mean to, but the last time  ate something was fucking 13 hours ago, can you imagine how hungry I was? 

And also, there isn’t really much else left to do when your anxiety problems make you hide in a corner (or on the toilet, always great to avoid family), yet your mother forces you to sit next to everyone and they are all watching you because “You are blushing!” – “Your face is so red!” (it always is, that’s my natural facial color) – “Why don’t you talk to your grandfather? Don’t be so rude!” – “What do you mean you can’t – don’t be ridiculous, you aren’t making any sense!”

And no, I will not go into detail about where all the scars come from, thanks a lot.

Also, will you PLEASE stop comparing me to her? I know damn well I am not as skinny, as pretty, as attractive, as fashionable, as confident, as creative, as independent, as caring, as witty, as popular, as PERFECT as her and constantly shoving that down my throat does not improve this situation at all.

And please, dear aunt number 2, I am aware that our antipathy for each other is mutual, but if you really want to complain about my “weird mannerisms”, my “awkwardness”, my weight and my “incompetence to hold a conversation with anyone” – do it when I am not sitting next to you.

Thank you very much for your attention.

I don’t like you.

You are the reason we can never do anything. You are the reason nobody can be happy without you spoiling it immediately. You are the reason why the three of us are constantly under so much pressure. You are the reason why I can’t tell her about my problems.

You are the reason I feel like shit, like a failure, like someone who has done nothing worth thinking of in their entire life. You and your constant habit of accidentally-on-purpose not understanding or hearing what I try to say are the reason for me having developed that stutter. You and your refusal to understand or acknowledge any form of humor are the reason why I have no idea how to survive conversations with anyone of my age. Your stubborn denying that not every human on earth is the same and that not everything a teenager should do is work all day without complaining or even flinching makes my developing depression grow faster and faster. Your refusing to “allow” me to do the one ever-so-small thing I’d like to do has been the thing that finally crashed my barely-existing self-confidence.

You refuse to listen to any attempt of conversation or mediation I try to start. You refuse to acknowledge I actually do have a thing called “free will”. You are the only one discriminating me for what I am and what I like, when you should be the last one to do so. 

I realize you are somewhat stressed, but you deny it and STILL make everyone else feel even worse than you feel yourself. Seventeen years and you still are not over the fact that a child doesn’t act like a robot.

And so much more.

Only today I have started putting into words what I think of you. This is the beginning of speaking up. This is the end of silence. This is the end, no matter what it might cost. This is the end. It is you and me, and the beginning and the end.