Being a Burden

Chapter One

The snow, the phone call, the look on Aunt Mary's face. She sat me down and said there was something she had to tell me, my cousin Eva was there holding my hand the whole time

When she actually told me, I couldn't believe it, I wouldn't believe it,but there was something inside me saying it had to be true.

There was this emptiness inside of me that I couldn't explain. A hole. A gaping hole that causes you to lose your breath, that feels like someone stabbed you in the stomach with a sword, makes you double over in pain, both physically and emotionally. This hole isn't something you can fix, not matter how educated you are. No one can fix this, especially if you're already broken.

"No,you're joking. You're joking aren't you? You have to be." I said

"No Brooke, I'm sorry" Aunt Mary whispered

"You're lying to me. I know you're lying. This has to be some sort of practical joke. It's not funny."

"Brooke, it's not supposed to be funny. I'm being serious. I'm so sorry."

A single tear drop ran down my face. It was like the first rain drop before a thunder storm.

There was this feeling that arose in me. A feeling of helplessness, loss of control.

My mom was actually gone, and there was nothing I could do to change it.

It took a little bit, but the storm came, and it was not pretty. It was the most I had ever cried in my life, the loudest I've ever sobbed,and then I woke up.

I wake up breathing heavy, my face wet with tears. This isn't the first time I've dreamed about that day. No matter how hard I try to forget it, it always seems to come back, to haunt my dreams.

My mom died six years ago, when I was thirteen. I was at my cousin Eva's house when we got the call that she had been hit by a drunk driver. Her car flipped and slid on the icy road.

I always blamed myself for what happened, I still do. She was on her way to pick me up. If she wasn't, none of this would've ever happened.

I try to focus on my breathing in, out, in, out.

People tell me that It's not my fault, that I shouldn't blame myself because I wasn't the one who hit her on the road that night, but she wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for me, so it was my fault, and nobody can convince me otherwise.

I know that I won't be able to sleep for awhile after this, so I check the time on my phone. It's two-o-clock am.

I decide to take a shower to try and relax. I grab a pair of pajama shorts and a hoodie and go to my bathroom.

I take my brown hair out of my messy bun and it falls down my back.

When I get in, the water is warm on my skin and it calms me down for some reason.

I stay in there for a long time, letting the water run down my back, listening to it come out of the shower head. A nice consistent rhythm.

After I get out, I decide to paint, It always calms me, and though my heart rate has gone down, I still don't think I'll be able to sleep anytime soon.

I put on my black cat eye glasses, get my canvas, paints, paintbrushes, and head over to my easel. It's right by my window.

I paint a meadow, a far away meadow full of flowers. The sun shines and there isn't one cloud in the sky. It's so peaceful, nothing bad could ever happen there. I wish that I could climb right into that picture and live in that meadow forever. Free of worry, free of heartache in a perfect, peaceful world. But I know that I'll never be able to see that place.

I can't figure out why it's so hard for me to let go of the bad things in my life, when everyone else seems to just move on, and even be happy. I wish I could be happy, but instead I've learned to fake a smile, fake a laugh, and when someone asks me if I'm okay, simply reply "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired." But secretly, I want people to notice that I'm not okay, that I need a hug, that I need someone to just sit with me, not to tell me everything is going to be okay, but to just be there with me.

It isn't easy living like this, waking up in the middle of the night with a pounding heart and a tear stained face. Sometimes it's about my mom, and sometimes it's about my sister. She died when I was nine. She was fourteen, and had breast cancer. She fought hard for two years. Then cancer won. I wanted so badly for her to kick cancer's butt, but she couldn't.

I've never understood something, how can some people live such a carefree, perfect life, and other people have so much wrong with theirs. Just like my cousin Eva. She has both of her parents, a big house, everything she wants, and she's always been an only child. Then there's me, my dad left when I was two, my sister died when I was nine, my mom died when I was thirteen, and now I'm living with my Aunt Mary, Uncle John, and Cousin Eva.

Ido have a pretty good life here, I have a big bedroom, my ownbathroom, a huge walk in closet, and a car that they bought me when Ifinally agreed to take my drivers test.

It was a big deal because I had severe car anxiety after my Mom's wreck. I couldn't even get in a car without having a panic attack for months after she died so when I turned fifteen, I refused to get my learners permit. It took a lot of persuading, but I got my learners when I was seventeen and my license when I was eighteen. After that, they surprised me with a black Camry.

I don't feel like I deserve their kindness, I feel unworthy. They say they have enough money, but they spend it on everyone besides themselves. They buy stuff for me and Eva instead.

Finally at five-o-clock my eyes start to get heavy so I crawl into bed,hopefully I'll get 
some rest before work tomorrow.