Farewell.

We all had to sit in the blue velvet chairs...the immediate family, that is.
It was weird. As I sat listening to "I Can Only Imagine" I thought about who that man beneath the flag in front of me could be. Who he really was.

He was the father that could never be a father. Even the minister said he didn't quite know how to be a dad. That he loved his children, but never knew how to let them know. What do you do when you see strong people break down? My Uncle, who has survived almost nearly 5 deaths, was weeping. His daddy was gone. My mother, who acts like she always has it together-showed the world she didn't, with her cries. She never really had a daddy.

I said farewell to a man I didn't know, today. And it was hard to mask the burning in my throat.

Deeper.

God this hurts. I'm going deeper and deeper into this slump. I don't know how to write beautifully, not sure I really ever did, but pain is eroding my entire body. I just want to fly.

Hollow.

Usually the next day I wake up with a fogged memory, refreshed soul, or even just okay.

Today I woke up, and it's the worst its ever been. When I drive, when I blink, when I flick the television on. It haunts me. And it's light outside. That's the scariest part. My alarm clock feeds me no more pills and my friends are fed up.

I would be too.

This time it's too hard. This time I don't know who to call...so I look to myself. No one's how they seem. I don't even know what's inside of me, anymore. I'm through. I just need to open some skin and try and hold on. But that's what I've been trying to do? So here's to the next step.

Ashes to ashes.

It's weird when someone so close to you dies. You know how to feel. You feel hurt, you feel guilty, you feel diseased. There's so much pain and it's hard to release. So you cry. Or you don't cry. You write things down or you just close up. But no matter what you do...you will never get over the feeling of how ordinary death is. It happens every day.

So my grandpa died. I wasn't close to him. I haven't cried. I haven't torn open my life to find a deeper meaning. But we shared blood? There was the potential of this hurting. Of this being one of the hardest days of my life...but it isn't. My mom has been crying a lot. It's only been a day and that seems like all she knows how to do...is cry. She is so guilty. And this, I know, will eat at her forever.

Me and my sister were asked to speak. Read a passage from the bible. It's not close enough to us to hurt, but he was our grandpa, and we owe him something. I mean I do hurt...for my mom. For my Uncle. For my grandma who was so mistreated by him. My mother who would never have the dad she'd longed for. So this IS close to me. I guess this DOES hurt? I don't know the man...but everyone deserves to be treated like they matter. Because doesn't everyone matter?

I would hate to be burned alive. I'm thinking to myself-what were his thoughts? Did he pass out before or after the fire touched his old skin...was he scared? Was he unconcious? I feel for this person who I did not know...but I feel like that's okay because as I upturn my wrist I realize that his blood runs through my veins...and he was a person who lived...but not a good life. People are questioning whether or not to attend his funeral and THAT hurts me. He was a human being. And I hope no one questions whether or not to say goodbye to me. I hope that my life means something. And I really do hope people come around...

Ashes to ashes...
Dust to dust...

Blackout.

10 times this summer, already. Am I trying to make some feeling subside by numbing my body? I thought it was all in good fun...but last night was scary.

I don't remember hardly anything. There are fragments here and there that seem scattered about my brain, but that's all. I remember what people tell me and I remember the grass. Wanting to "spend time with the earth" is what they said I kept repeating.

I disappeared and they found me next to an air conditioning vent. I remember almost losing conciousness until Morgan smacked me in the face. I had scared her. I remember crawling through the grass and yelling for her. And when she finally came back, I remember laying in the grass with her, looking at the stars. It was the first time she had ever talked to me about Stephen. Joy stumbled over and I have never seen her so broken. The three of us held each other and cried. As strong as we all seem to convince ourselves we are...everyday is a struggle.

After that moment I don't remember a thing. Everything seemed to just...blackout.

I'm not sure what I'm learning...but I sure am growing. And my body aches like hell.

Choices.

Every morning you wake up and have a choice.

Am I going to live today properly, from the core of my heart, from what I believe. Will I make this choice...or will I destruct another day?

Too many of my days have been destroyed, and I just want to live well. 'Live' being the operative word. I want things to matter, and I know that my life is good. The people in my life are important. In some way, through this tangled web I weave...I'm important, too. That's a weird image to derive in my head.

We talked last night. I do remember that. I remember talking about choices. And I read our text messages which didn't make much sense from my end. And all I could remember was choices. I don't know what I said, I don't remember what all that you said...but I woke up this morning. I went with Jade to CVS to pick out some blonder hair dye and I came home and let my fingers hit the keys so hard in my attempts to make loud, passionate music.

I want some rejuvenation the way I felt before my Uncle died. I remember a time where nothing got me down-besides the usuals of just being a girl. My family has never been perfect-but at that moment I had become numb to all of that destruction and just focused on an important life that wasn't mine. It was my Father's up there in the sky, and that's when I was the most happy.

Even now my life is not my own, but I still have this messy way of thinking it is, and thinking I can do anything I want to my body. That is a foolish thing to think.

So we visited his grave a few weeks ago, ya know. The first time I was in his presence in two years-since the funeral. His stone was beautiful. I mean absolutely him. Didn't know a tombstone had the ability to really represent the person underneath, but it did. My throat burned the entire time, though. I really had forgotten how much I missed him. Everyday I do, though. He had become such a big part of me. He understood me like no one else. But he's up there having such a good time, though. No shame in that. Only praise.

I went on a picnic with Jordan yesterday and she told me that

"Just because you do bad things, doesn't mean you're a bad person"

...and that lifted me a little. But I still feel heavy.

Bootsie.

I'm writing this one handed, while my kitty sleeps on my lap. She's been sick for days and they say she won't make it much longer. I can't help but want to cry as I hear her struggling for breath as I type. It kills me.

As stupid as it sounds, she used to be my everything. When the world would tear me down, Bootsie would come right up to me and rub her face against mine in a "it's gunna be okay" kind of way. She was like a dog, because everyday I got home from soccer practice in Elementary school, there she'd be, waiting at the door. I couldn't trust anyone but her. She's been here for most of my prayers...and now I pray for her to heal, or go to a better place.

I love her more than I thought possible to love an animal. I don't think that's silly.

Dust.

She comes from a broken home with no beliefs. Her past holds bruises and blurs. Her future seemed bright until the tunnel caved in...then the whole world became darker because she took after the sun. She was bright when it was...but the second it disappeared, she did too. Her face seemed wrinkled and she did not look like she was 18 years old. She had too many scars for her age. Her hair swept across one eye and she was grasping the red letters as hard as she could in hopes that they would bleed into her. In hopes that she would heal from all the cuts and scrapes that her daddy had made. That her sister had left. That her mother dismissed. She looked beyond everyone to try and find a face in the clouds...and at night, in the stars. When she slept, she only dreamt of better things. But were they tangible? Would they ever be? Will they ever be? She's broken beyond belief. But as she moves her fingers and prays harder than ever-she feels an overwhelming presence that must be something important. She is being held.