I have 8 months sober today. I couldn't feels shittier. Today is freezing. When I think of you lying in the ground-it makes me want to pour gin inside both of us. I feel frozen inside- yet boiling at the same time.
Mom and Dad are going through your phone trying to piece together that night. When people say to me that you made this choice, and it was no one's fault but yours- I feel homicidal. I really want to hurt them. I imagine feeling cold and heartless and burning everything around me down. It makes me think of how we killed the neighbor's dog when we were four(two)- that time mom was drunk and let us drive. You always said I wouldn't make it in prison, though. They don't let you wear glitter and their coffee.. is not.
We were supposed to die together when we were 80- jumping from a plane, because being old sucks. This is not how it is supposed to be. Don't get me wrong, I know how much you were suffering, and I am relieved you no longer are. A small part of me even envies you. I just know it didn't have to be this way. And it makes me sad that you can't continue to make everybody laugh and share your stories and creative ideas with the world.
Kathy said someone told her you had two kids- one who looks exactly like you. I find this hard to believe because I just feel like you would have told Rachelle or I. Either way, the thought of it makes me break inside. You would really make an incredible Dad. Giovanni came to the funeral and brought Gia. She is 6 months now and beautiful. I suppose I'm officially the only sibling without kids- and ironically the only one who religiously read parenting magazines at age 11.
Mom and Dad still listen for the door to open and you to come home. Dad saved half his pizza for you in case you came home and were hungry, and mom longingly glances at the chair on the porch just hoping she'll see you there in your usual spot, smoking a cigarette. I, too, am finding it impossible to imagine a world without you in it. I'm having a difficult time convincing myself it's a world I want to be part of.
It's good that I don't have the choice to die. And somehow I know you didn't have the choice to live. (I definitely don't believe it was meant to be or that "nothing happens in God's world by mistake" *rolls eyes and mentally flicks off who ever says this*) I just know how powerless you were over Heroin and that you didn't make a conscious choice. Addiction is so powerful and neither of us signed up to have the birth parents we did or this relentless disease. I know how hard you were fighting and how unmanageable your withdrawals were. Again, I am grateful you are no longer suffering, but at the same time I would bring you back in an instant and undo this if I could.
I wish I knew what to fucking do to make this okay. For now, I will keep existing--and do EVERYTHING I can to NOT pick-up and to ignore these obsessive thoughts.
Remember when we were having a snowman contest and you and Dad cheated by using a basketball? I thought that was so unfair. You got more hot chocolate and marshmallows than me! That same day we built a huge snow fort and you jumped on the top, pinning me frozen inside.
That's how I feel now:
This is smotheringly painful and incredibly unfair.
Love you; hate this
Nat