buying anxiety medication from strangers to maintain some robotic positivity. to suppress my anger. to suppress my heartbreak at the hands of the family that hasnt been a family to me in two years - except for these occasional glimmers i have come to call our “wizard of oz days.” to all the things i never said, that you never asked me to say, simply because you know you couldnt grasp your own guilt. i have endured levels of hell unknown to most, and at what cost? ask me, family, at what cost? but no. remind me of my worth. make me kiss your toes. tell me how ugly i am happy, or how beautiful i am empty. i want to sit in front of you, so badly, and scream on the top of my lungs, all of the fucking battles i won on my own. i want to tell you about the things you refuse to acknowledge - my engagement, my living with strangers because i couldnt be at home, my mutilation from ages 14-now. eating disorders. drugs. ask me, i will tell you everything. maybe then you’ll get it. and maybe then i can be free, for still being this fucking incredible of a person after all of the things i did alone. at some point, you loved me, i know this, but at another point, you forgot me. and in so many ways, i could prove this. i know you’d never have the heart to deny it. but i blame myself. i blame myself for ever opening as much as i did, to people i would never be enough for, to people that could only see me for who they suspected i was. you’ve missed such a beautiful thing. its hard, this is hard. today is hard. some days are. but one day, i will forgive you all. you gave me a beautiful, comfortable life, but that doesnt mean you gave me love. i’ve had to feel broken for the past seven years. but i know in another seven years - when my books begin publishing, the only thing i want to break of yours, is your hearts. only as much as you broke mine, by making me love you so much, only to have it unreturned.
some peoples goals in life are to make a fuckload of money, and have sweet material posessions.
the only thing i ever wanted was to pack my bags, and have a distant home waiting for me, and buy the house of my mothers dreams in connecticut, and leave a note with the title for the house, on the porch with a bouquet of flowers that says “is this enough?” i imagined her reading it, as my plane is landing to my new “home.”
“i know youve been through a lot of shit ryan, and like me you kept most of it to yourself, hidden. you took on the weight alone. but you know, our family isnt much of family anymore, and without family, you’re all alone, right? mom and dad have theyre little world, their drives, their bullshit. their happiness. and you have your band mates, and your music, and your happiness. and i dont know. kara decided not to move down, and im stuck in my shitty job, paying to live in the house. i see them maybe an hour a week total. i see jaron once a week because of work. i dont go out. ever. i dont know. i guess im just at that point of treading water, where you just dont feel like treading anymore. maybe the water is resisting you for a reason, you know? i dont know. ive never been perfect, but i;ve always loved you more than anyone or anything. and i just wish i dont know. i wish you could remind me that everythings goings to be okay, like older siblings do, you know?”
the message i sent my brother, sure enough to no reply.
i am so, so blatantly alone in the world.
