Living each day one day at a time
It's been two months since my Mama Susan's death and I am trying to fight back this depression that has been getting on my nerves lately. I have been very sensitive. I cry over matters that set me off with just a little prodding.
Like a fight with my house mate over a silly joke. It feels like they never really understand the fact that I am dealing with a new phase in my life. It's difficult to sink in my brain that I don't have parents anymore. I don't have any safe haven.
You know when you're a kid and your mom or dad tells you that everything's gonna be alright and you take their word for it because their word comforts you. No matter what fear you have inside your heart, their word makes you feel safe and you feel you can conquer the world because of that feeling of security that their words bring you.
There's a hole inside my heart now. A feeling of emptiness that no one can fill up. Yesterday, while I was sick and cooped up inside my room I watched Angelina Jolie's movies like the Bone Collector and Taking Lives. The common theme was that of serial killers. I just had a certain conclusion borne out from watching those movies. I think serial killers, couldn't cope up with life and that's why they kill to live.
Maybe they couldn't handle life and though it's sick maybe they don't know how to deal with life and that's the only way they know how.
Living is ironic. I know I have morbid thoughts or probably it's depression talking but you cannot make shortcuts in dealing with grief. I cannot shun away the pain, the loneliness, the intense need to be understood.
I wish for my childhood memories to come to life where I feel carefree and just live each day mechanically. Eat, sleep, school and play. Life is just simple and uncomplicated at those times. In order to grow up you have to give up innocence.
I dream of a life where I can play under the rain and run across meadows and chasing butterflies and the smell of new grass.
I wish to have this life again.