My mother would have turned 69 on February 19th and as such, I struggled to sleep for several days, so I expressed myself in the only adequate way I could by writing an open letter to her so that I could share my feelings with others as well.
"Happy 69th Birthday, Mom. Even though we struggled to get along without bickering, I still wish you were here to celebrate this milestone of life and laugh and bitch about getting old and falling apart. Alas, I will never have that moment to share with you, but then you always stubbornly did your own thing with a bit of spark (and the flip of a bird or two) to the very end... As Hunter S. Thompson bluntly said, “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!”
I'm sad that you're gone, but glad you're free of your pain and the weight of all your troubles. We didn't get along much of the time, but I can't deny that the world will never be the same without you because you'll always be my grumpy, but well-meaning mother and I love you."
................... I don't know if I'll ever stop being haunted by the live video I observed of my mother on her deathbed. I don't regret having observed her knowing that it would be the last time, but you're never prepared for it. I close my eyes and I see and hear everything and it tears me apart and keeps me awake at night.
It's still extremely difficult for me to talk about my 48 hour clusterfuck visit to South Carolina in the week before new year's eve. It's an experience that I try so hard to suppress, but it hits me in sudden flashes, exacerbating my pre-existing PTSD, making it grow into a monster I can barely contain. It makes me hate everything that happened and hate myself even more for being at the very center of it all, utterly helpless... to quote an anonymous statement on a whisper meme, "I hate that the word "triggered" has been made into a joke. I feel embarrassed to be honest and say when something is triggering my PTSD. I'm trying to get better, but once they hear that word..."
I turn 35 on Friday and even when my mother and I had our worst disagreements, the one thing she always did acknowledge was by wishing me a happy birthday by sending a text or through a brief phone call (at times being ridiculously passive aggressive). She's gone now and it's so fucking hard to come to terms with the fact that I'll never hear from her again.. It's monumentally difficult to function when my mental state is so frayed by a deep chasm of depression... Trying to find the energy to be creative is difficult and even when I wish I could write or draw, the well of creativity is blocked by a wall of static. It's so easy to tell myself I'll never be the same again that perhaps I may never find the passion to be the person that everyone remembers and that I've become such a disappointment and lost everyone's faith. It conjures such a horrific wave of anxiety, thinking the worst about myself and everything and fearing what I can't foresee... The cycle of self destructive thoughts seems as if it will never end given my penchant for feeding my demons... Long story short, having a crippling anxiety disorder (and a whole host of other issues) is a bitch.
Alliases (past & current): Formerly known as Vege_Chan since the beginning of time, Gnatdagger, Royal_Vegeta81, Veebot on AO3
Current Residence: Issaquah, Washington
deviantWEAR sizing preference: Small
Print preference: 8 x 10
Favourite genre of music: Rock, Heavy Metal, Alternative, Techno, Dubstep
Favourite style of art: Traditional (pencil & ink)
Operating System: Windows 7
MP3 player of choice: Sansa: SanDisk e280
Shell of choice: Invincibility
Favourite cartoon character: Bumblebee, Sam Witwicky, Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Drakken, Freakazoid, Vegeta, Goku, Super Buu
Personal Quote: "I reject your reality and substitute my own!"- Adam Savage