Break me

E

August 24, 2013

Hi mom,

 I guess I'm going to start by saying that you are the worst thing that has ever happened to me.

I'm a cold hard mess, so don't just peg me as evil yet. I'll explain myself. Really.

Somehow I got sick this week. I might have a cold or some dumb sinus infection or the flu; I don't know. But I've been kind of miserable from it. My throat is scratchy, and my nose is stuffed up. I can't talk properly like that, and it hurts to sing.

Mini story- yesterday, I walked into dad's office. My nose was terribly stuffed up, and my face was flushed because it's hot outside. I was like, "Hi dad."

And dad was like, "Grayson. Have You Been Crying? What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

Yes, dad. Everything is fine. ish. No, nothing is wrong. And no, I have not been crying. I'm sick, remember. Yes thanks.

Okay, that's just how things are. But to me, being sick isn't the worst part of being sick.

I hate sleeping when I'm sick. I almost think I'm at the point that I hate sleeping all together, so it really stinks that I get tired. I really hate sleeping when I'm sick though. I always go to bed really early when I'm sick because my body is so exhausted from being sick,  but usually I just lay there.

To fall asleep, I have to find that happy spot in my mind, and I can't find it anymore. Maybe I've decided that I never want to sleep again. The worst thing about being sick is that I'll always end up waking up in the middle of the night. If by some miracle that I do fall asleep, I don't want to wake up.

I'll wake up at three am, and I'll wake up at 5 am. And, I always wake up covered in cold sweat. I will feel hot, and at the same time, I will feel cold. It is a terrible feeling. Just awful. I hate sweat!

If you were painting me, I'd be a shade of grey. I like to think that I'm pitch black; at least black has character.

When you were sick, you hated it if someone ever said that you were afraid of dying. I think that your friends always told you that because you did act like you were afraid of dying.

You had the worst friends in the world.

Your friends were right though. Everything that you did totally screamed I am fearful. Well who wouldn't be afraid of cancer? It was your right.

It was your right to panic, to go buy the most expensive clothes for your kids that you could get your hands on. It was your right to cry. You didn't need to let anyone tell you that it was wrong to cry and be scared.

If it makes any difference now....

It actually doesn't make any difference now, and I never told you then. But I never thought that you were afraid of dying.

You were not afraid of dying. It's just, you could not stand the thought of not waking up the next morning. You couldn't think about not breathing. You couldn't think about not being here now.

But you were not afraid of dying. You are the only person I knew who could shove their fear under a rug, step on it, forget it was there.

 Every time I look at a person's eyes, it's like magic happens. Eyes are their windows, and I peeked. What about the different stories? I love looking at people's eyes. It's creepy; it's weird, and it makes my own eyes water, but I do like it.

Looking at your eyes was always like a watercolor. I'd see the broken glass, the smiles, the struggle, the black coats, the sky, the cold.

Don't worry. I'll explain it all.