Friday, July 2nd, 2004
Faking it.
It hurts sometimes when I think about everything they've been through and managed to survive. They're all so much stronger then I am. They thrived when I struggled, they got away and I got left behind. They've moved on and I'm stuck here in a place where a single step outwards takes my breath away. The walls aren't physical, they're barely even metaphysical. The bonds that hold me here aren't made of solid steal or tightly woven ropes yet still they remain unbreakable. The force that keeps me here has no face, no voice, no reasoning but it's more real to me then my own existence. They don't see, I don't let them, I couldn't. They are all just so strong and I try to be like them, keep my chin high like mother used to say. Smile when spoken to, laugh when it's appropriate and never ever let them see you cry. If they see the falter in my step then they'll know how weak I really am, how much I don't belong.
I know it's stupid to think that way. I really do but it doesn't stop me. So I do what mom taught me. I smile so much it hurts, I laugh so deeply my throat goes raw and I never cry. I'm on time for every meal and I eat it all even though my stomach protests. I go to bed when they do and feign to be sleeping, my eyes remaining closed until the sun rises. When they ask me to do something I do it without a moments hesitation. I listen with my ears never really hearing what they say but I've gotten really good at pretending. I don't spend too much time on my own for appearances but mostly because it's hard.
There are times in the middle of the night, when silence has become my life-partner and my mind wanders down roads that should never be traveled. Each one is dark and cold and they never end at a wondrous spring or glorious waterfall, just a ledge, a deep angry crevasse in the earth that threatens to swallow my world whole. Even though I know what will happen as I step closer to the drop-off, I keep going. It draws me in and the more I fight the more I lose myself. When I reach that precipice I simply stare at the swallowing abyss and without thought or momentum it takes hold and I'm forever lost.
I've fought and lost battles with myself in the silence of the night and they don't know. In their eyes I'm an innocent little girl, willing to help in any way I can without fuss. If they knew the real me, the me that can't even fend off her own mind, can't even handle a piece of bread because she knows she doesn't deserve it, they'd realize it should have been me.
Don't… don't get mad at me for saying that. It's not that big of a deal just something I think sometimes when I'm pretending to sleep… or when I see the effects the loss has had on them… or when I'm pretending to listen… It's just that it hurt them all for so long that I often times wonder if it had been me they might have been spared all of that. No one would have had to shed any tears, no one would have had to take sabbaticals to deal with it and things would have just carried out normally. I'm not saying I wouldn't be missed, I'm sure they would grieve for awhile but not as badly as they have.
It could have been done to. If I'd calmed down long enough to notice what was going on I could have taken the burden away. But once again I wasn't strong enough, I'll never be strong enough. I don't really live my life anymore, which is odd to say. Most people have dreams, goals to obtain. Get through school, get the good job, have the marriage and the three kids, live in the white expensive house, retire old and happy and slightly rich. That's the norm, the thing to strive for. I can't do that. I don't have dreams and my only goal is to survive to the next day and hope for another.
It's not something to pity. It's a fact, one of the only truths I actually have amongst all the faking and pretending. The other truth is you… I know that's coming way out of left field here but it's true. For them it's a never-ending show where I play every part imaginable. I've been the daughter that needs to be cared for. I've been the mother that can make everything disappear with a simmering cup of cocoa. The friend who spends sleepless nights talking and listening to them even though it's a facade. I've even been the healer that mends wounds with simple words. The funny thing is the only person I haven't been is me and I can't be me. Not for them, not for me and probably not even for you though I like to think for you I would do anything.
Of course I'm not naïve enough to believe that you coming back to me could change who I've become. She used to say miracles can happen, that her life here was a miracle. It let me believe you'd come back which you did but then everything collapsed and I know now she was faking it too. We all were in some way or another but her most of all. This life isn't a miracle, it's a gamble that can go either way, it's uncertain and wholly dangerous to those who think its security. I mean look at what happened to her, to you, to all of us. Is that the miracle? Or is the continuance of life after her death the miracle?
I'm not sure why I started writing this, let alone why it's turned into a letter for you. Please, please don't think this is my way of trying to force you to come back by making you pity me. It's more of a confession in hopes that doing so will help me sleep at night. I don't want you to even entertain the thought of coming back unless its because you and only you want to. I'm not dying, I'm not suicidal, I'm just sad and a little lost but this has helped me build a map of sorts. I'll find my way and maybe you'll find yours back to me, when you're ready.
With All The Love I Have Left,
Rogue
P.s. Write back if you can…
(Author's Notes-- I've been 'out of order' you could say, for a very long time. I messed up my knee and may need surgery again soon. In other words this may be it for quite some time and I just needed to write something. Enjoy, and please if you want Logan's reply tell me I might be able to pull it out of a hat before I'm bed ridden.)
