Someone close to my family committed suicide Saturday morning. I don’t know how to process this fact.
We were close a long time ago. We haven’t spoken in a decade or more. He was an implicit constant in my life—I simply didn’t think about him. Now he’s an explicit and permanent constant—forever etched into the stream of moments and memories.
So here I sit in a place I hold most sacred, surrounded by the clan that I hold most dear, and I keep glitching out because I don’t know how to process this fact.
Fuck you.
That’s what you get from me today.
Fuck you for staining these things.
How can I even consider starting to heal when I don’t know the damage yet. The blast is still forming and the shrapnel has not taken flight.
Someday I’ll get through all the serenity and understanding forgiveness and restoration that comes from time.
But not today.
Fuck You.
Me