“I’m just tired of existing.”
I never expected to hear those words from you. Not now. Not ever.
Those words sobered me up, and immediately I texted Bubs.
“No don’t buy a ticket. I’ll head there tomorrow. I’ll talk to her.” He said.
The next day, I checked in on you. You said you were fine, I almost believed you. But I wasn’t fine and my intuition said you weren’t either.
Did I do this to her? Am I too vocal about my mental health issues? Has everything from the last 3 years with our brother rubbed off on her? Are Mom and Dad pushing her too much? What’s happening at that very expensive prep school of hers? Should I book a ticket home? I’m buying a ticket home.
“No, don’t buy a ticket home. It’s not that serious. I was just upset.”
I bought the ticket anyway. $787. I’d arrive in Boston at 2 A.M and would have to be in office in Connecticut by 8 A.M. But it didn’t matter.
You rang the motherfucking alarm.
I bought a motherfucking ticket.
Because you are the sun in this family,
And I’ll be damned if you didn’t shine again.
I stepped foot into our family home by 3:16 A.M. and was in your room four minutes later. And though I didn’t know the severity of what we may be dealing with. I just knew, and I think you did too, that whatever it was, we’d tackle it together.
Because you are our mother’s rainbow baby and our father’s emotional reset.
You are T.J’s soft spot and my favorite superhero.
You are the family’s sun, brighter than any star could fathom, and you absolutely will shine again.
As your big sister, I will make sure of that.
Every month, G.G. Renee of All the Many Layers provides writing prompts that encourage self-discovery while getting on into the habit of releasing via art or writing. Seeing as I can only draw stick figures and smiley faces, writing is the avenue I’ve decided upon.
I don’t think it comes as a surprise that over the years my writing has become less about me and more about helping others. I’ve kind of lost my mojo over the years but have found peace in my short-form shares via IG captions and tweets. But I miss the days of personal blogging.
I miss being able to keep up with the lives of other bloggers through their writing and personal essays. I miss when the words didn’t have to be pretty and come with some sort of underlying takeaway, other than the lesson learned from what was shared.
So instead of searching the internet for it, I figured I’d start with doing just that myself. I’m going back to my roots: writing for me, and writing for my healing.
I hope you all don’t mind, but this next month is for me.