(no subject)
Six months ago today:
Wake up with Jared in Seattle after a night of heavy drinking. Sun is shining. I am not hungover. Feeling good. Feeling warm. Not wanting to get out of bed.
Discussing breakfast. Touching. Cleaning the bathroom. Trying to remember the night before. Laughing at our drunken oafishness.
Jared gets a call and the color drains from his face. He leaves the room quickly. He is crying.
I continue cleaning the bathroom, getting upset because I think Videotape died.
Jared is gone for a long time.
I start to think his grandfather died because he'd been in poor health.
Jared re-enters the room. I try to talk to him about what's wrong but he looks as if he can't understand what I'm saying. He is non-responsive. He says we need to get home.
I get a phone call from my sister. She sounds upset. I start freaking out.
She asks 'Are you with Mom?'
I tell her no and ask why.
She keeps telling me to get home to Mom. She won't answer my questions. By this time, I'm screaming.
Finally she says, in the smallest voice I've ever heard 'It's your Dad.'
I start screaming some more and asking what happened, the final question being 'Is my dad fucking alive?'
'No.'
I collapse on the ground and start crying so hard I am screaming inbetween breaths. I don't know how long I was on the floor. I could not breathe. I could not stand. I didn't want to get up.
Jared carries me a number of blocks to my car. He has to open the door and buckle me in. I am still screaming.
Jared tells me to start calling people. I comply. Screaming and sobbing and telling everyone in my phonebook what happened. I don't remember who I talked to, really.
We get on the freeway. On the drive home I tried to throw myself out of the car a number of times. Eight, I think. Jared had to physically restrain me. I didn't want to have to see my mom. Killing myself seemed reasonable.
Longest car ride of my life. My driveway is full of cars. I can't get out of my car. Jared has to carry me again.
My mom walks out of the house with my siblings and other faceless family members. When I see my mom cry I collapse again. Mud in my hair. Bark in my mouth.
I hug her and say 'I would give anything for it not to have been you that found him.'
She says 'I'm glad it was me. I tried CPR. I had time to hold him and be with him and kiss him goodbye before they could take his body away.'
I say, 'Fuck you, could you have said anything more heartbreaking than that?' (Not actually meaning the 'Fuck you' part. She knew it wasn't an angry 'Fuck you'.)
Go inside. Feel insurmountable guilt for not being home. He died right outside my room. In the hallway. Halfway in my room. He was probably coming to me for help but I wasn't there. I should have been there. I might have been able to do something. If the paramedics had been there in time, they could have revived him. People survive heart attacks all the time.
These past six months have been hell.
I can't do this anymore.
Wake up with Jared in Seattle after a night of heavy drinking. Sun is shining. I am not hungover. Feeling good. Feeling warm. Not wanting to get out of bed.
Discussing breakfast. Touching. Cleaning the bathroom. Trying to remember the night before. Laughing at our drunken oafishness.
Jared gets a call and the color drains from his face. He leaves the room quickly. He is crying.
I continue cleaning the bathroom, getting upset because I think Videotape died.
Jared is gone for a long time.
I start to think his grandfather died because he'd been in poor health.
Jared re-enters the room. I try to talk to him about what's wrong but he looks as if he can't understand what I'm saying. He is non-responsive. He says we need to get home.
I get a phone call from my sister. She sounds upset. I start freaking out.
She asks 'Are you with Mom?'
I tell her no and ask why.
She keeps telling me to get home to Mom. She won't answer my questions. By this time, I'm screaming.
Finally she says, in the smallest voice I've ever heard 'It's your Dad.'
I start screaming some more and asking what happened, the final question being 'Is my dad fucking alive?'
'No.'
I collapse on the ground and start crying so hard I am screaming inbetween breaths. I don't know how long I was on the floor. I could not breathe. I could not stand. I didn't want to get up.
Jared carries me a number of blocks to my car. He has to open the door and buckle me in. I am still screaming.
Jared tells me to start calling people. I comply. Screaming and sobbing and telling everyone in my phonebook what happened. I don't remember who I talked to, really.
We get on the freeway. On the drive home I tried to throw myself out of the car a number of times. Eight, I think. Jared had to physically restrain me. I didn't want to have to see my mom. Killing myself seemed reasonable.
Longest car ride of my life. My driveway is full of cars. I can't get out of my car. Jared has to carry me again.
My mom walks out of the house with my siblings and other faceless family members. When I see my mom cry I collapse again. Mud in my hair. Bark in my mouth.
I hug her and say 'I would give anything for it not to have been you that found him.'
She says 'I'm glad it was me. I tried CPR. I had time to hold him and be with him and kiss him goodbye before they could take his body away.'
I say, 'Fuck you, could you have said anything more heartbreaking than that?' (Not actually meaning the 'Fuck you' part. She knew it wasn't an angry 'Fuck you'.)
Go inside. Feel insurmountable guilt for not being home. He died right outside my room. In the hallway. Halfway in my room. He was probably coming to me for help but I wasn't there. I should have been there. I might have been able to do something. If the paramedics had been there in time, they could have revived him. People survive heart attacks all the time.
These past six months have been hell.
I can't do this anymore.