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Poor Leavy-kun! emo

We moved yesterday. (And still are... slowly.) I don't have my own internet connection, yet. Sort of "borrowing" it from my neighbors. And no TV either (Wants my adult swim!). Can't find my sketchbook. BORED.

Just had the most interesting, crazy conversation with my grandmother and brother about 20 or so minutes ago. We were talking about grandpa and the nuances of our family, the ethics behind withholding information, and the purpose of mental-health as a social science, when Mom popped up in the conversation (I only call her Mama between the two of us, or in memory), and then things got kind of messy.

You know, the usual kind of messy. I said that we needed to talk about Mom so her memory didn't die, but that what I call "hollow-grief" (insofar as crying over a dead person endlessly crying her name "Chrissy, Chrissy" on the phone) does no one any good. Gram said that she was still with us, still here with us, and I said, "Gram, Mom is dead."

Next thing I know, my little brother is telling me to "Shut the f*** up", "I'm going to f***ing kill you", and "Don't you f***ing say that again". You know, brotherly love and all that. (And this is the one who says that we should not talk about things. Go figure.)

But I just look at him, sadly, pitifully, and he stops. He begins to cry. He hugs grandma, who at this point is also crying, her face collapsed in sorrow. Suddenly, I'm the sane one, and when that's true, you know the situation is bad. Gram sniffles and says, "But she's still here, inside of us."

Me: "But she's dead. You can't cling to her like that--you have to let her go, for her memory's sake. She's a memory now. She might be more, but she'll never be less--let her go."

Grandma: "I'm not ready to let her go!"

Me: "You have to. Clinging to her like that...it's like squeezing a doll so hard her head pops off." And then squeezing it tighter, I thought to myself.

Grandma shakes her head. I ask, "Would Mom really want you to grieve like this? I know if I died, I wouldn't want this."

Her reply: "Sometimes the things we want are not the things we get."

At that point, I was ready to stop talking. There's no getting through to her--she wants to wallow in her grief until it swallows her whole. There's no point in me talking, she isn't listening anymore. She's just like my brother, just like my grandfather, just like my father--when something doesn't go their way, they ignore it until they can't ignore it. If it's hard to face, or it doesn't coincide with their happy-go-lucky, "let's-hope-for-the-best" attitude, they shove it into a little corner of their minds, the darkest corner of their hearts, and lock it up. I swear, Mama was the only person in our entire family who took things as they came and dealt with them--really dealt with them. Even I can't compare next to her. I try my hardest--I talk things out, I exercise catharsis, I keep myself well-entertained, hell, I'll even go to school and not complain if I think it will help.

But I'm not going to fool myself (no more than I deem absolutely necessary, I do have a reputation to uphold as the Greatest Fool Who Ever Did Live *adjusts conical crown and strikes pose*), and I'm not going to fake emotion, or lie about what I'm feeling, especially to myself--I respect myself, and others, enough to be honest, even when it hurts, even when it doesn't help, even when it's undiplomatic, even when I could get beaten for it (though I've been told black and blue are such nice colors on me), or turned out. And I love them too much to let this one go. I love myself just enough to deal with all of the s**t thrown my way.

If I didn't.... If I were number, like them, or number like my classmates.... It wouldn't be so hard to end it, in one fell swoop (or slice, or swig, or swallow). But I'm not numb. I'm painfully aware of everything. And I'm not ready to go yet. The people in my life keep me well-anchored--Henson and Christene, Pam and Damien (in memory, at least), both Kiyo's and Lion and Tommy and Muse, Will and Robert, Wendy and Haylie and Linda and Joseph, Nick and Catherine, and Kelly too.... So many people who care about me.... I owe it to them, and to myself, to figure out why the hell they care.

Mama taught me that family is more than blood. I believe that now more than ever: my family is made up of people who I love, and who love me. Family is more than blood: it's smiles and laughs and tears and arguments and hugs and kisses and above all else, love.

Call me what you will, I've heard it all before. But if I can still love, I can find a reason to go on. Crazy, huh?

I guess this is a good time to tell you guys that I still have a fever and that this is a half-Rant, half-something-else-I-can't-describe. Feel free to comment on this, or ignore it completely. It's all up to you.


Love and Vale, and sorry for double-posting!
~Leavaros/Masq

I can't say I understand how you feel, LD. When someone dies I don't know why, but I don't feel sad. It's like I know I'll see them again (don't mean to bring religion in to it...) someday, so I don't feel as sad. I'm the one who offers the keenex, ears and the crying shoulder to everyone. I don't know why I'm so strong about those kinds of things. I DO cry when I get sad about something. But when someone dies I just don't get that sad. Especially if they had loved ones and a happy life (you know, died happy).

It's true most people need to grieve, though. The only thing you can do is let them grieve and try not to get yourself sucked in to their misery.

In the mean time I'm here to lend an ear, my shoulder and all the kleenex you need. wink

I have to say that little rant kind of portrayed a darker side of the usually less flippant Leavaros. Might I remind you that losing a mother and losing a daughter and two wholey different things? Your gram sacrificed for her daughter, hoped that one day she would see her become something and live a full life before dying. Imagine now that she's lost that, all that time and energy gone to waist, all the sacrifices she's made were done in vane.

I know what its like to lose a parent, so don't think I have no idea where you're coming from. But asking, or in your case, demanding a mother let go of the memory of her daughter and stop mourning is callous and insensitive, fever or no fever. Just remember, your gram knew your mother longer and better than you ever did or will. And know that you are never in any position to tell anyone, ever, that they should let go of someone or something. Your brother had every right to say what he did, I'm surprised he didn't act on any of his threats. If someon ever dared tell me that I should let go of my father, or even my little Tasha because it wasn't healthy of beneficial to do so I'd hope that they were at least a safe distance away and didn't plan on talking to me again for a long time.

Being logical is fine, there's nothing wrong with it. There's nothing wrong with adhering to your own moral ethics and diversionary tactics for getting through life. But forcing those on others is dispicable, especially since someone as young as yourself couldn't possibly know any better than your grandmother of all people.

I'm gone, before I start shouting.

the Lion

And I don't blame him either, I don't particularly enjoy being told people in my life are dead either, in fact I get pretty upset and defensive about it. And he had every right to go off on a hinge with you, you told him to stop mourning his mother, or else that's what he heard, best case scenario what he heard was along the lines of "she's dead, forget about her."

And so what if I would say that I'd kill someone only interested in my health? What business is my health to anyone but me?

And please, let's not play the poor little kid card please? You're old enough to be your own person, and from the sound of it, so is your brother. I some times like to believe everyone is like me, able to trudge through their problems and able to lick their wounds once they've gone far enough. And I know that some people can't do that. However, if anyone lets someone else bring them down, that's their own fault. Let's take some of your advice and let your grandmother go, clearly that avenue is much more practical than letting go of your mother.

Yes, well, as usual, Lion and I are on opposite sides of the spectrum and once again, have caused a scene. I apologize for ever making that post in the first place, and for...pursuing the topic as well. Obviously, it was wrong of me to have ever brought it up. And I'm sure Lion would agree that, had the facts been presented better, none of this would have happened.

That is what you wanted me to say, isn't it, Shagon? Make up and be kind? Avoid confrontation?

The truth is that Lion can't know what my life is exactly. Even partially. Especially considering the amount of censoring going into each post, and of course, the half-listening that so often portrays him.

There is no reason for him to get defensive. No one should get defensive against the truth. I did not say to stop mourning Mom, I said that she was dead. There is a difference, Demon, damn it! I was telling him to face it and grieve, and grandma to wake up. How would you feel, being the only one to solve things? They are going through the motions of grief, but not grieving. They've forgotten about her. They hang on to the edge of a memory, and in doing so, tear it from her. I can just...feel the wrongness of it, and it's killing me. You know better than most that both silence and sound can be edged with malice, or sorrow, or bitterness. But have you ever lived in a place, amongst people, where both cut you deep? There is no escaping yourself, and there is little in escaping my family.

I. Am. Not. A. Poor. Little. Kid. However, I'm still a minor. Emancipation is out of the question in my case, and in his. Legally, we belong to our grandparents. And they're killing themselves. Slowly, but surely. And we have to watch--our eyes are held open, there's no looking away.

I'm sorry, but you must have lost it. I should hold on to my mother and let go of my grandmother? Do you have any idea of what you're suggesting? Mom's dead, Demon. I released her. I have a memory of her. Our life trees are intertwined, literally. There are days when I feel like she's right there, giving me directions. But that changes nothing--she's dead. But grandma's not. She's alive, and aside from her obvious problems--drinking, grieving--she's pretty hale for her age. But she's driving me crazy. Insane. Just one random breakdown, one nagging comment at a time.

Don't you see, Demon? I let Mama go because I loved her. I hold on to Gram for the same reason.

Your little line about your health concerning no one but yourself shows how pointless, how random your replies are. When you love someone, you care about their well-being, even when it would be easier not to care. The lack of understanding of that shows me just how far I am from you.

Sometimes, Demon, I think you're strong, and experienced, and intelligent. You really do seem like a lion to me. But other times, you prove to be a complex human being--you're scarred and stunted and completely unapologetic. Not unkind. Just rough--no, just ruthless. We really are two different creatures. Equally human--or inhuman, but in opposite ways. You have no business commenting on my life. And I on yours.

You know what the real difference between us is? When someone gives themselves over to me to explain what has happened in their life, I try not to pass judgment on them. I offer reassurance, help if I can, a shoulder and an ear if I can't. Even advice, if I feel it is called for. But you jump to conclusions, analyzing and over-analyzing phrases, situations, declaring people flippant, seemingly without much thought. You're very good at tearing people apart, there's no doubt about that. You'll make a fine editor one day, I'm sure. Then you can get payed for it. (And you'd better believe I'm keeping my tongue in check, for old times' sake, and for Muse.)

You've gone too far this time.
~Leavaros/Masq

Plans for tonight fell through. Probably for the best. Mood: Unhappy, restless, reflective.
-LD