The hardest thing about this December 17th is that I cried daily leading up to it. I’m not talking about a few tears. I’m talking about cry until you get a god damn headache cry.
Fuck the full moon.
Fuck life.
Fuck people.
Fuck everyone.
Fuck everything.
As much as i try to be a positive person, I could not shake the giant dark cloud. The hardest thing was realizing I had no one to turn to. The ones I would turn to in the States are asleep and there’s no one here in Australia who understands the darkness of this week.
I tried like hell to hide from this week and to hide from the oncoming storm but I couldn’t. So I let it consume me at the end of each day. Crying in the dark, balled up like a discarded piece of trash.
I have always felt alone in my life, but none like this week.
I can’t stop the tears.
I don’t know how.
It’s not just the memory of my mom’s death that triggers the tears. It’s other things. The rejection, the fear, the letting a wall down, the holding on to something that is utterly hopeless, the everything.
I can hear and feel Lydia from Beetlejuice in my head: “I am utterly alone.”
I’m okay with that.
I always have been.
The depression ridden fucked up mind that is mine understands the alone.
Expects the alone.
The darkness.
The oncoming storm.
But the girl who only sees sunshine and blue skies wants a permanent shoulder to cry on, someone who will hold her until she cries herself to sleep, and hug her on the days she says she’s okay a little bit tighter because they know it’s a fucking lie.
Until then, in the darkness, I cry.