Monthly Archives: July 2015

Catching Death Off Guard

I did write this last night but it has taken this long for me to post it. I haven’t talked about this subject in a while but I felt the need to put out a different voice on the matter.

 

(My dear loving father, Seeing as you are a loyal reader, you might want to skip this one.)

 

Right now, as I write this, it is exactly five minutes until midnight which means that it is still, technically, Robin Williams’ sixty forth birthday… or, at least, it would have been.

 

From the day he was found dead, people all over the world have been singing his praises. They call him a great man, humble, a loving human being who made the world laugh. He taught us many things, they say. He was one of the good ones. This may be true. I would not know. I never had the chance to meet him. Whenever someone dies, the polite thing to do is speak kindly of them. In death, we are not our mistakes but a triumph of our successes. This is what keeps us from speaking ill. Celebrate the life while forgetting the death.

 

What happens when it is suicide?

 

No one dares to speak of the darker side of death. Why would we? Why would we shame them for something they could not control? Depression is an all-consuming force. Is it not? When someone commits suicide society tells us that it was not their fault. They could not stop it. They lost their battle with a raging demon. However, the one thing I have noticed is that no one takes the time to pay attention to the side effects of suicide. There is one thing that no one seems to take notice of. It is the people around them that are left with this cloud over their heads. The ones closest to them, left broken in despair, that are left thanking everyone for their kind words without a single acknowledgement to what they are thinking. Their loved one committed suicide. That person, lying six feet below the ground, took their own life for reasons known only to them. They interrupted Death’s lunch break simply because they felt like it. Yes, suicide is a feeling above all else and for those of us on the other side of the dirt… well, we just have to live with it.

 

Eventually, you stop picking up the phone to call them or going home with the expectation of finding them there. You continue to get up every single day and move forward. The late night crying stops and the memories get pushed back in your mind only to be brought out at the right times. There is a sense of control you take on because the people that are around you at this very moment do not need to know how much it destroyed you. No one wants to hear about how that person left you behind. Those people you pass by everyday lack the desire to be aware of the anguish you feel knowing that your children will never meet that person you once knew. Filling out a medical history form now requires a moment of silence. Holidays with your family will always have an empty seat that not a single person wishes to acknowledge. Every accomplishment you achieve throughout your life is slightly less fulfilling and every time you hear about someone else taking their life it reminds you that, unfortunately, you know how that feels. It is the looks you recieve when asked how they died. It is the pity you never asked for but, most of all, it is the resentment that you hate feeling. You once loved them, dearly, and all they showed you was how much that just did not matter.

 

Being a child of that not only robs you of your childhood but, also, labels you in a way that stabs you deep down in your gut every time the word is even mentioned. My mother committed suicide and everyday I become a little closer to being older than she ever was. This is a fact that will continue to haunt me in the coming years. She never made it past her thirties and I am left fearing the genes that she gave to me. A parent taking their own life gives a brand new meaning to not wanting to become them. Their memories are now tarnished and, somehow, you feel guilty for remembering how they died. We tell ourselves not to let it define us. We forgive and move on but on certain days, after a moment of anger, we laugh at how stupid it all was only to turn around and cry about how selfish it all was.

 

The greatest side effects of suicide are the ones left behind. My mother was my best friend as a child. I held her memory high for a long time only to realize the weight it had placed on my shoulders.

 

My daughter will never meet my mother and, for that, I hold her responsible.

 

Mr. Williams’ birthday has passed now…

 

I think I can put her memory away again.

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How Do You Say…?

What happens when there is nothing left to say? At any moment, it could happen to an audience, your family, a friend, or a lover. Eventually, we will have nothing left to express. Our world will become silent and the people will be forgotten. All of which stems from the loss of a word.

 

A word…

 

Words are nothing but a series of lines and curves that make up letters utilized in a sentence to organize expression. We use them to formulate a business plan, terrorize an enemy, or in an attempt to describe love. Without words we would lack education leading to a decline in intelligence. Knowledge would be nothing more than scribbles on our skin. Hate would be synonymous with compassion and acceptance. The lost are simply elsewhere, the established are merely still, and to be in-between would be outside of. Words are nothing that describes everything in which their meaning only exists through interpretation. The improper inflection could lead to misunderstanding causing a revolt against the calm exterior. They are spelled out or plainly put. Accompanied by emphasis or hung on vague motivation. Words can cause confusion, animosity, and self-doubt. All of which can change with a personal choice of whether or not to erase the word “offense”.

 

Offense takes pride within sports as a balance to defense. However, as of late, it is the motto of our society. Without it we feel forgotten, left out, and lonely. We create it to have a voice whether it needs to be heard or not. We embellish it to justify our ever-growing defensive side. The fight comes before the explanation because we misinterpreted the definition. Instead of the balance we allowed it to become all encompassing. Why? Well…

 

You call it bossy but I call it strong. He calls it love but she calls it lust. They call it intolerance but we call it forgettable. Through all of this everyone forgot to listen which is the one word that requires no other words. It is a thought, a courtesy given without expectation. It is the one word that could build bridges and destroy the walls that divide us by offering a simplistic form of compassion. Through the eagerness of speech we end up leaving this courtesy behind without realizing that most of what we say does not warrant this action. The majority of the time it is good to remind ourselves that what we want to say is just not that important. If we think before speaking we can offer up a more intelligible opinion. We can correct our mistakes and respect the ones listening. Most of all, we can be taken seriously. Beyond the misspellings and overuse of slang, we have more words to express. We are not defined by slogans and memes. We are human beings with the ability to utilize the complex yet meaningless system of building expression through speech. Stop trying to express the deeper meaning of you with cute little memes and using “dat” instead of “that”. If you misspell your life’s motto then maybe it is about time you make some changes.

 

Great speeches never skip the proofreading stage. We need to remind ourselves of this every time we find ourselves slipping to the offensive side of life. The abuse of words will lead to the destruction of language. We will fall short on our privileges.

And we will run out of something to say.


My Lazy Apology

I haven’t called in a while. I know. I’m a terrible friend… So sorry.

It’s been far too long, readers. I apologize for that. I’ve been dwelling on uncontrollable life moments. Crap that really doesn’t need to be fussed over.

AND… I’ve been lazy.

We’ve talked about this… I’m sure I mentioned it. Anyway, doesn’t matter. The problem with being a writer is that when you sit down on a regular basis to write something, it can start to feel like homework. Then your words become random letters smashed together because of your forehead making repeated contact with the keyboard. It happens. Actually, it happens quite a bit with me. I’m not gonna lie. I love writing and at some point I convinced myself that I’m vastly more intelligent when I write. I can be anyone I want on paper (or computer screen) but I choose to be myself which means I ramble incoherently until proofreading makes me want to claw out my eyeballs. That’s not something you witness, however. You only see the greatness. Even now, when I swiped “greatness” on my phone’s keyboard it autocorrected with my last name. It’s not coincidence, it’s just fact. (No, I’m not this arrogant in real life.)

The whole point of me writing this right now is to let you know that I haven’t forgotten about you, my five loyal readers. Neglected, yes but not forgotten. Personal issues mixed with a general lack of desire to remove my ass from couch cushions has caused me to ignore this website. I felt bad. I began to long for it. I needed to log in again. I missed you, website. My Netflix game is strong these days… A little too strong.

I can’t promise much but I can tell you that my personality is on a motivated arc right now. It might not last but I’m working on it. I want to come back. It might just take a minute though.

Right now, I’m tired but something will vomit itself from my brain soon. I can feel it.

Maybe it’s just a fart. (Haha… Get it? Because it comes from my brain… Yeah, I’m tired.)

Soon… Though… Stuff…