Big vent - be warned.
I need desperately to write, to work things out in my head, get it out of my system. But don't know where to start really.
"Why did she have to make her hell, our hell?"
In over four years, Taz and I have never been angry at Mum for killing herself. Until now. Taz is angry at her for the legacy she's left us, and I'm angry at her for what she's done to my brother. What good are my protective instincts if I can't protect him from this pain?
Growler called me last night, "I need you here now." Didn't know what was going on, woke FuzzyBen up, was absolutely mind-numbingly terrified that he'd killed himself, or overdosed, or was whacked out on P or something and wrecking things, or had an accident, or ... or ... or. The last phone call like that, Taz calling me May 99 saying "I think Mum's dead" when I had to drive, I talked on the cellphone to P in Wellington the whole way because I couldn't believe it. Last night I drove in silence, but Ben held my hand the whole way, and I needed it.
But there were no police cars on the street, and while there was furniture strewn about the bedroom, it was Taz, naked and defined by misery with his back to the world, that was the focus of my attention.
DAMN Mum for giving him that pain! For not letting go, not letting us be, move on, start fresh. DAMN her for doing this to my big little brother, my family, my heart. DAMN her, DAMN her, DAMN her all to hell.
He'd smashed her wedding picture, shredded her funeral order-of-service, scattered her wedding jewellery and funeral clippings and condolence cards. I have them in a plastic bag now - but we've decided that no way are we giving Aria her wedding jewellery - no one needs that kind of legacy passed on.
She took the easy way, and we're dealing the hard way, and of course there are people worse off but these are our LIVES dammit, and this is a bigass fuckup she made that will haunt us for the rest of ours. And that sucks, because we will never take the easy way out like she did, because we know what it does to the ones who love you. It breaks them, shatters them, twists the lines into corded, bent wood. We will never be straight, strong trees. We've been warped by pain and loss and desertion and NOTHING will make that right. We just have to live with what it's done to us.
Ben was a godsend - he made tea and went to the petrol station down the road and bought cigarettes for Taz. He was here when I needed hugs, when I needed to be protected. Taz and Growler and I lay on the bed, sat on the bed, sat in the lounge, drank tea and smoked (or inhaled second-hand) and talked and hugged and talked and kept the anger quiet. Eventually, long long after midnight, Taz sent me off to join Ben in the spare room, and he and Growler went to bed.
I lay awake for a long time. I'd never been angry at Mum before, for what she did, but I'm angry now. Taz is angry at her for what she's done to us, and I'm angry at her for what she's to him. She made her hell, our hell, and we're
the ones tormented with demons. And that demon is Mum. Damn her.
"Why did she have to make her hell, our hell?"
In over four years, Taz and I have never been angry at Mum for killing herself. Until now. Taz is angry at her for the legacy she's left us, and I'm angry at her for what she's done to my brother. What good are my protective instincts if I can't protect him from this pain?
Growler called me last night, "I need you here now." Didn't know what was going on, woke FuzzyBen up, was absolutely mind-numbingly terrified that he'd killed himself, or overdosed, or was whacked out on P or something and wrecking things, or had an accident, or ... or ... or. The last phone call like that, Taz calling me May 99 saying "I think Mum's dead" when I had to drive, I talked on the cellphone to P in Wellington the whole way because I couldn't believe it. Last night I drove in silence, but Ben held my hand the whole way, and I needed it.
But there were no police cars on the street, and while there was furniture strewn about the bedroom, it was Taz, naked and defined by misery with his back to the world, that was the focus of my attention.
DAMN Mum for giving him that pain! For not letting go, not letting us be, move on, start fresh. DAMN her for doing this to my big little brother, my family, my heart. DAMN her, DAMN her, DAMN her all to hell.
He'd smashed her wedding picture, shredded her funeral order-of-service, scattered her wedding jewellery and funeral clippings and condolence cards. I have them in a plastic bag now - but we've decided that no way are we giving Aria her wedding jewellery - no one needs that kind of legacy passed on.
She took the easy way, and we're dealing the hard way, and of course there are people worse off but these are our LIVES dammit, and this is a bigass fuckup she made that will haunt us for the rest of ours. And that sucks, because we will never take the easy way out like she did, because we know what it does to the ones who love you. It breaks them, shatters them, twists the lines into corded, bent wood. We will never be straight, strong trees. We've been warped by pain and loss and desertion and NOTHING will make that right. We just have to live with what it's done to us.
Ben was a godsend - he made tea and went to the petrol station down the road and bought cigarettes for Taz. He was here when I needed hugs, when I needed to be protected. Taz and Growler and I lay on the bed, sat on the bed, sat in the lounge, drank tea and smoked (or inhaled second-hand) and talked and hugged and talked and kept the anger quiet. Eventually, long long after midnight, Taz sent me off to join Ben in the spare room, and he and Growler went to bed.
I lay awake for a long time. I'd never been angry at Mum before, for what she did, but I'm angry now. Taz is angry at her for what she's done to us, and I'm angry at her for what she's to him. She made her hell, our hell, and we're
the ones tormented with demons. And that demon is Mum. Damn her.