Someone asked me recently, after I had finished telling them how much my book had sold, why I wrote. Which in retrospect wasn’t a nice thing to ask… but none the less I answered them. I said for me it’s about getting my demons out. It is about taking all the pain and all the bad things I’ve done or had been done to me putting them on a page and letting them out.
Now, this is not to say that all of those things I write about happened to me but… I dig in deep an pour my soul into it. This maybe the wrong way to do things. I am probably going in the completely opposite direction of what writing should be. It should be for the readers. It’s about them, right? I think if I write this way with this in mind that I’ll hit someone in just the precise way that it will resonate with them. It’s probably not the best way to handle business but, I hope it works. I hope I can connect with people.
I have been given the gift-or detriment- to be able to feel things incredibly strongly. So much so that describing it to others tends to fail in comparison. I love feeling things and making that apart of my product, a part of whatever legacy I leave behind-I am twenty-four leave me at least some delusions of grandeur- is very important to me.
If you haven’t guessed by now my name is a pen name. Honestly, the quiet refusal to show my face should’ve been your first tip off but I digress. It is as much something given to me as something I’ve chosen. I get to sit at a keyboard and be something different from myself. It is incredibly freeing.
This Monday, I paid my respects to my last grandfather. He was a lot of things to a lot of different people. To the people of the church, he was a good Christian man. To the people he worked with, he was a hard worker. To my father, my uncles, and my aunts, he was a father and a powerful man. To me, he was Granddad, the person who had this laugh that will echo through me and make me smile whenever I think about him. A person who connected me to a large part of my heritage. I couldn’t always understand him, he had a thick accent but I’ll remember the twinkle in his eyes and the hat on his head.
I’ll admit I wasn’t as close to him as I probably should be but, I’ll miss him all the same. I hope some of his tenacity rubs off on me. I hope I can be half the man he and my father are. The Dalton part of my name is a goal and something to look forward too. I hope I can make something of it.
The hardest part of funeral’s are watching the people you thought were so much larger than life be human. Seeing them cry and feel lonely and diminished. I couldn’t breakdown with them. I hurt so much to see them and I wanted to join them be overcome but, I think something broke inside me when my brother passed. I don’t know if anything will hurt me like that again. I don’t know if that should be comforting or a sobering. Probably the worst part is seeing my father standing there like that so much pain in his eyes but, not being able to release it.
I think everyone deals with anxiety differently and as long as you don’t let it fuck up your life then you’re fine. I asked a couple people, in this Facebook group I’m apart of, how they deal with their own anxiety, what made them anxious. I was surprised about the many ways people dealt with it some people it. It made me think maybe I wasn’t dealing with it in the way I should. That maybe just walking away from the things that make me anxious wasn’t solving anything.
A ton of things happened this week and I had panic attacks for three nights in a row. Maybe that’s small change for some but It has never actually been that bad for me. First I finally got out of situation that had me on a knife-edge. I was slowly climbing up the walls and I wanted out. So I finally said so. I know it was my fault for getting into that situation and for me not getting out of it when I started to feel this way.
The second day was mostly a layover of what happened the first day but, I found out someone I looked up to had done something reprehensible. For me I knew how to feel about it but, the people in the group I mentioned earlier were split between raising money and condemning them. Maybe this wasn’t a big deal. I guess its hard to separate big and small things when you’re in a whirlwind of your own emotion.
On the third day, because of how badly I dealt with what happened on the first day, I had a friend decide she didn’t want to talk to me. I’ll admit I didn’t use my words well and I hurt another friends feelings. I’ll own that but, they didn’t even tell me their feeling were hurt. So while I had been going through all of this and I needed her she ditched me. I felt like I didn’t understand our relationship anymore. I was hurt and angry and I wasn’t so silently vacillating between them. I had thought we were close and it really cut into me. I don’t know if I can trust them again. For me the forgiving part is easy but, forgetting doesn’t do anyone any good. If you forget you are open to having it happen again. So should I forgive them?
I’m sure this is absolutely boring, but I think that people with anxiety should talk about what upsets them. I think that I have felt so much better dealing with this stuff with words then I ever had just walking away. So if you go through stuff like this talk about it. There maybe tons of other ways people deal with it but I think talking goes somewhere above something like self-harm.
I had a dream a couple of nights ago about my brother. He died three years ago. That’s all I usually say about it. He died. I mean people ask all the time about it. How he died and I tell them and there’s a pity in their eyes.
It’s not that I like talking about him, it’s not that I like there sympathy. I guess it helps keep me grounded. Centered on the fact that it happened and that I’m okay. Maybe that’s wrong, using him like that… I mean it probably is… It’s just I need to have it be there in my life. I need to know it was a fact and that it happened. That he’s gone now and I loved him.
So back to my dream. He was dying again, this time longer this time we knew. This time I wasn’t angry. This time he was older. As old as he would have been today. He was just sitting in the car. I guess for privacy to get away from everyone. This time I had a chance to say good bye.
I told him just how much he meant to me. How sad I was going to be to see him go. I guess my mind hadn’t quite gotten their yet. I held him tighter than I’ve ever held anyone. I cried so much and when my mind had finally caught up. I told him we’d be okay. That we’d be fine. We already had been. That we’d be torn apart and forever changed, but we’d be okay. And he cried for the first time. We cried together.
I think in then end this dream was good for me I needed to get it out. It was cathartic. I don’t know if dream me got to be with him in his final moments but, I finally got to say good bye.