explosive reality check - November

I sometimes think that overly happy or always "chill, unbothered"  people have serious issues. They are too happy and do not deal with their crap until one day... KA- BOOM, you are getting screamed at because the socks were left in the kitchen or because there are q tips on the bathroom floor. Most of the time I am irritated with something. When everything is not perfect, in its place, or running smoothly much to my control, I will flip. The past few months however, I found myself much more lax with certain things. For instance, strangers coming in and out of my house, the kitchen always a disgusting mess, going to work in my pajamas. Just not me. Soon enough though my little world shattered. and I went KA - BOOM.

By this time, it had been about 9 months since my mom died. The funeral was done, her resting place was set, the headstone was in place, her clothes were packed, and most of the world, was running just as it should. I acquired a puppy around this time too - Darla. Life was going on track, work, school, work. I started the semester off strong but as it progressed, my grades dropped - I shouldn't have been surprised, I never really went to class. Well I was there physically but not mentally.

I don't really know how my friends and acquaintances were perceiving me...I didn't really care. I was stuck in my own world. I was blind to what was going around me mostly. There were a few instances when I had to snap out of it and return to "momma Lauren" but I didn't feel it most often. During my free time from school and work, I was either sleeping, had friends over, or out and about. Each of these had its own evil, all in which I was perfectly fine with. When I was sleeping, I was riddled with nightmares and would wake up crying or screaming most times, When I was with my friends I was either probably really detached or messed up, and when I was out and about I was doing what every other 23 year old was doing...Drinking. Only by now, once I hit that brick wall, I would somehow slip out of a comma and start to think about everything. My anger and rage would be turned towards someone else...I would call everyone and cry or yell. All I wanted was attention, or love, or just to "be normal", to be happy, not to have to smile in front of everyone. I would sit there and think to myself, "All these people have a freaking perfect world, well it may not be perfect, but they are not going through what I am." It made me angry at the rest of the world at my friends. Even though I was angry, I never wanted them to feel what I was feeling, even though I knew one day some sooner than others would feel it and THEN they would understand, I really wished and hoped that they wouldn't have too.

With a precursor here, This is my version. What others around me might say, is a completely different story. But this is a blog titled "All about me"

I suppose when you are just regularly drunk, piss poor decisions and crappy behavior is acceptable because you can claim black out or "I was drunk, I don't remember ha ha ha" But when your are grieving, your behavior is cause for scare, detachment, or straight up people being mean to you, or even worse your bad behavior is encouraged by others who use you to get their way. You are misunderstood on every level, and I found myself in that predicament. I didn't mind much because I felt that if I could hide what I really was feeling - EVEN THOUGH IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN CLEAR AS DAY  to everyone, I didn't care. I figured it was much easier to be judged for a lie, rather than to be judged on the truth. Mainly because people make up lies all the time, if I knew it wasn't true then who gave an "F", it didn't really matter what other people thought.

On a random Saturday night, we got dressed up, plastered our face with makeup and bright blue eyeliner, and went to the normal Casey Moores. The night was fun, until I got yelled at. I remember being told "Lauren don't you cry on me, don't you start crying...keep it together" For all I knew and my friend knew I was crying because I got yelled at. The tears wouldn't stop, then the yelping started. IN public with probably 200 people around. It wouldn't stop. I started  yelling, screaming crying. The hot tears were rushing out of my eyes, I couldn't collect them in my hands fast enough. My face was wet, my chest was wet and I didn't know what the hell was going on. I was in a complete belligerent full on panic, freak out, watch out world here I come, melt down.   I laid on the curb outside of Casey's while my friends hailed a cab. My poor friends had people coming up to them asking them what the hell they had done to me. I must have really freaked them out. We got in the cab and Kelly sat and held my head. It was pressed so hard into her chest that she still had my eye lash marks on her the next morning.  I cried and cried and cried so hard, "She wasn't supposed to die, she wasn't supposed to die!" "Why, why, why??" When I got home, my friends carried me in, I started to throw up everywhere. Sobbing, sobbing, It felt so good to cry and sob to let it out and in front of someone. My friend asked me for one of my Valiums, I thought "I must really be freaking the shit out of her if she wants a Valium, I need to pull it together" I finished crying and throwing up and I crawled into bed. I know these two women were freaked out and didn't know what to do with me. It was probably as scary to them as it was to me. That or they were just fed up with the shit of it all. I don't really know and I am not sure I really want too.

The next day I woke up, my eyes swollen, my body ached and I was embarrassed. Really embarrassed. I had a sit down talk with my friend. "Lauren, I don't know how to help you anymore, I don't know what to do, you need to talk to someone, I will go with you, I will sit with you...I just don't know what to do" My original thoughts were this "All of you wanted me to be happy, all of you told me to go out, I became the party house, You don't know how to help me? I don't know how to help myself!, I sit here every freaking day and figure it out one foot at a time- YOU don't know how to help me?" Then my logical mind kicked in and I knew she was right. I knew what I was doing was not benefiting me or anyone else around me and it wasn't fair to do this to myself or my mom. She would be very very disappointed in me and she was probably aching for me, for us all.

The next day, I went to Hospice of the Valley, where my mom died. I told them I needed to talk to someone that I was NOT okay. The nurse there, said" I remember you, its been 6 months?" I said, "Its been nine" he said, "It took you 9 months to have a breakdown, wow?!" I said, "well a public breakdown." He set me up with a grievance counselor and that is where I started.

 My little love- The reason I believed in life again. She was born just before my mom died and turned 4 this year.

 Surrounded by men. The only girl..2 of my brothers and two cousins.

 My aunts uncles and grandparents

For the next few weeks, I knew I had to keep it low key. My family and I went to Mexico for Thanksgiving. Now that I decided partying it up every weekend was not the best choice, I decided to do something else. Sleep. When we arrived to Mexico, we got out of the cars and a group of people were on the beach. Intrigued we went down there. It was a shark. A big ole shark. Of course my brothers, went straight for it. I sat there and screamed and went crazy, went back up to the house, filled my red cup and said "I wanna touch it" I went down to the beach and held the tail. After the sharked died, my brother chopped it up for the meat. I slept through Thanksgiving....maybe I was up 6 or 7 hours during the whole weekend. I rested and rested maybe because I was scared knowing that I had to come home and talk about everything that had transpired over the past year. My birthday was coming up. I had to spend 24 alone. With out a mom to make it special, with out a mom to make a cake or at the very least give me a card. I slept.

September and October

Okay, I have taken a break for a few days. Writing everything down has really "ruffled my feathers" and has forced my to deal with everything put on paper.

As I reflect back, these months were the same. I felt as though I was dealing with everything but really I was not. In a lot of ways, it was a good time. I had a lot of friends, I always had someone with me, I had work, school, a house, a new car and much more. The only problem with this as I look back was that it was all fillers. I was making good money so I could buy what I  want, I had friends so I didn't have to talk about anything serious, which I am sure it happened here and there and maybe more than I thought, and I was "dealing with it". Around this time, I also started exercising ...good....and I decided it was time for a tattoo. I put it up on facebook and was recommended a guy to get it done at for cheap. GREAT! I thought. SO with my friends in tow I set up the appointment, chose what I wanted, and was ready to get it done. :) The night of my appointment, I was nervous, I took a percocet to calm my nerves and reduce the pain and traveled down to the tattoo shop. When I got there the artist, was all disheveled, not ready and there was a baby in the shop. A little skeptical, I thought screw it, Live for now. It took him two hours to prepare etc. His first words to me "I am the most professional artist  you will ever meet," followed up by " I think I can see your boob"
Now, normally this is when my rational mind would check in and I would check out. Hell effin no see ya later loser. But I didn't He started the tattoo around 10pm. I SAT  there hunched over a chair, with him breathing down my neck, and his jelly wife and baby in the back. GROSS. 11, 12, 1, 2, 3 am. By now, I was done. It took him 5 hours, to basically do an outline. Its not like this thing is ginormous, but it was big. It was my first tattoo so okay. By 4 am, the shock had set in and I started to cry and whimper. I just thought "think about all the pain your mom went through, this is nothing" by 4 am, I told the guy he had to stop. He wanted to go on but I was done. My friend had left her car with me so I could drive home. I told him that I would be back to finish, got in her car, and drove home. I never went back, and I also scheduled an appointment to now get tested for needle related diseases. My rational mind was back "what the HELL was that?!"

Two hours later I had to wake up and go to work. I had to wash my back, and go. I loved it but it wasn't that great. I scarred really bad, but I didn't care. I took me almost three years to finally go back and get the courage to get it fixed. Its still not done.

My rationale mind I think had started to jump on a crazy bus. A storm was brewing. I was on a self destructive rut and October was a turning point. When we would go out, it was fun fun fun, until boom a brick wall was crashed into and I was splat all over the wall. Who wouldn't call every single person in their phone book at 2 in the morning? I would. My temper tantrums started. The screaming, the crying etc etc. People were still around though, so my behavior obviously was understood by everyone right?...not so much. I would soon learn that people were quickly, getting over my shit and loosing patience

dramatic but I dont do drama

I am pretty sure I just wrote about this topic...but I am really starting to ponder this situation. I MAY be dramatic and by "may" I mean most definitely am I don't do drama.

I grew up with brothers so I never had the cattiness of girls. It was always this is my problem, lets say what it is and punch it out. If I am angry I will tell you and if not I wont. Sometimes, I think girls just need to get it together and say this is why I am pissed, or this is why you bother me or did you say this about me.


A pet peeve of mine, is when someone gets a story and then misconstrues this story, then spreads the gossip, then a whole huge issue causing me stress is here. If you want the answer just ask! Another issue the silent game accompanied with passive aggressiveness. My thing is, if it isn't true then it doesn't really bother me. Except when my character is being talked about. I am a good person, a good friend, and will do anything for most people. I focus on my job and making my people pleased and I take care of me. I differentiate between right and wrong and will stick up for what I believe is right.

short and sweet speak up, work it out, and move on with it....

August...maybe I shouldn't

August:  Maybe I shouldn’t…


The semester started again. I had started with 6 classes and ended with 3. My semester started strong and ended weak. Weak sauce. I had Spanish, Accounting, Communications and three other courses that don't ring a bell.

One of my core classes was a communications course. We had to give speeches and record them. I loved this class but we had to watch and critique ourselves with every taping. The one speech I chose to write was the last of the semester. I chose to write about cervical cancer. This was my mission, my word to the world...."DON'T GET CERVICAL CANCER!" I wrote all the facts and report, but I had problems saying what I wanted to say. My B.F.F., took the time write my cards for me. She wrote them and added in little words like smile, grin and other comments. I still have these cards packed away and I look at them this time. I am so grateful for this friend. She is one of them that I met later in life, but a consistent, loyal friend, who in the end always had the best at heart. She would sit with me and watch T.V., sit outside with me and talk about nothing for hours, be up for a Saturday night party, for countless hours spent walking around target, and really listening to me. A friend that was there and good and not just there for the fun- I was really touched she did this for me.
** Just a side note, I do not mention friends names for their privacy.

I went to class and read my speech. Everything we learned went out the window. I stared at my cards, read monotonously, scared, timid. I finally glanced up from my 10 minute speech which seemed like forever , I had tears streaming down my face and so did the rest of the class. For a moment these people felt my pain. Something that I would never wish on my friends or strangers even but something that I so desperately wished people could understand or get…..something that  I wish my core group of people could do more than just sympathize with. Its bullshit really. When one person has to deal with a lot of crap and others don’t. A bunch of “why me” starts starting to float around. I finished this speech and they all clapped and clapped and clapped. I looked at the floor as I walked back. I sat down next to my friend in the class, and he patted me on the back. Another guy just looked at me and said “wow”.

I watched my video...barely. I couldn't stomach it. In a way I was sick to my stomach, in another way, I was able to touch 29 people in my world, mostly a little younger than me but some of the same age. I gave these students something to think about. I could see the reaction on their faces, and I could tell they listened to me. This was good. 

This is one class I passed. This semester felt like high school again. I would go to class or not go, grades didn’t really matter and my attitude was the same as well.
The nights remained the same. Night time. When the freaks come out. There is something about a 23 year old female at night. She is young, fresh, face caked with makeup, and ready to drink. This I was ready to do. Never much of a binge drinker before, I was down for the cause. I still maintained that I could only drink Friday and Saturday nights and maybe a week night but this was a rare occurrence. Binge drinking is the normal for a 23 year old. How much beer can a 23 year old drink? Well I think from 9 -4 am, 10- 15 beers, a few shots and if lucky some hard liquor. How much can the “grieving” heavily medicated (doctor prescribed of course) for emotional pain, anxiety, physical pain and probably a few extras….drink, the same, but the consequences seem to be a little worse.
The nights always started off well. Fun, fun, fun, laugh, laugh, laugh, and scream….laugh, however, at times, this emotional pit of a mess would turn for a downfall.
I never fancied myself to be a social being or someone who relied on a friend to always be around. I really enjoyed my alone time. I often get sick of “people” I am too much of a control freak. Everything needs to be in its place and clean and in my control.  But shit, life proved to be uncertain and sucky so why not change it up. I became a person who always wanted someone around, someone to be consistent. I almost never slept alone. I had a privy of girlfriends who would be happy to join me on a sleep over.
Not too bad of a situation.

So the problem consisted of this: When the night ended and I was sufficiently drunk AND medicated, sometimes- rarely at first, my emotions would start to trigger. Ups and downs, anger and tears….misconstrued feelings turning into what looks like jealousy. But hey, once in a while, everyone is allowed to get a little crazy right? Who doesn’t call every person in their phone book and leave voicemails, one happy, one sad, one screaming, and one….

Another side note here. I look at these picture because they disgust me. I see them now and see such a sad girl, lost, scared, and forced into complete oblivion. I share them however, so you can see a part of my world at this time.

May - June - July

Perception. The act of perceiving something or someone. How someone else sees YOU through their eyes. What someone thinks about you. This is my laymen definition here, I am too lazy to get the real one. 

What you see in yourself and how others see you and even what you let others see are very different things. When you are at your thinnest, people still think your fat, when people think your angry, you could just be shy and when people think you are crazy with a capital C, you think get the hell out hell out of my face because I'm not crazy you are!  

May, June and July.

These months are filled with pretty much the same routine. Wake up, go to work, come home, sleep, eat, meds, sleep, eat, meds, sleep, text, call, sleep, sleep sleep, drink, sleep drink, drink, friends, cry, drink, sleep, eat. wake up, repeat. 

For awhile, this was okay with everyone. Lauren was happy. Or so everyone thought. A happy friend is a friend you don't need to worry about, mess with, talk to or TALK TALK to, a happy friend doesn't impede on your day, a happy friend isn't a burden in your life. This is what I needed to be a happy friend. I felt as though I had two lives at this point or maybe three or four. I was keeping it together damnit! Work me was quiet, kept the i pod on, got the work done and left alone pretty much, sometimes would fall asleep at her desk because she was always very tired and heavily medicated. Family me, had a very remove, distant, angry me, and friend me (when they saw me) for the most part was either sleeping, medicating, or ready for a party. Not happy but not horrible. 

I was cool in my head. An angry little beaver. My one triumph over the summer or around that time. My fight with the Medical Board. The number one Cervical Cancer doctor in AZ was assigned to my mother. I will not say his name. Mainly because I do not believe in giving bad horrible murderers positive attention for negative behavior. Not only did this dick, miss  blood poison results, he up and walked out of my moms treatment with out so much a word. HE moved to Florida. Gone, bye, yelled at the family all the time and her as well. WHO treats a person with cancer like this? The devil does. 

We were fighting and fighting for a mal practice suite against this monster in order to take away his medical license. We didnt care about the money, we didn't care about any of that. All we cared abo ut was the other women that would be under his care. I was frightened for them. The medical board is a scary thing. You have 20 or so doctors sitting staring, you need to get up in front of all of them, speak into a mic and convince these medical professionals that you, a regular human being without a doctors degree, that this doctor, friend, and comrade, killed your mother. I prepared a 9 page letter with all my emotions and great points. We each had 5 minutes to talk. My dad, my grandma I think, my aunt Janice and myself. They all spoke. My time to shine was here. I stood and read, my hands were shaking and my voice was trembling. As the tears rolled down my face and the spit flew from my mouth, I remembered the children my mother worked with. The children she loved, the children who signed her petition for her to be granted her degree. I thought of them. My voice grew stronger, louder, prouder, more convincing, more, more, more, "Shit, my 5 minutes were up" I looked at this board of people some with no facial expressions, some with tears and some who really couldn't give a shit probably, my voice spoke, quietly, timidly, "may i finish please?" All my rage went away and I turned into the little girl with a soft voice who was empowered by a woman- by her mother. Something allowed these people to let me finish. I finished the last two pages. looked them all in the eyes "Thank you"....They sat and contemplated. We didn't win this day. Although the doctors all pretty much agreed. My mothers doctor acted unprofessionally,inhumanely and had something to do with the discourse of my mothers death, he could not be fully punished. His punishment- A Scarlett letter.  A slap on the wrist. To this day, if I see this man....He is someone worth going ape shit crazy for...God gave me two fists, two feet and a voice and this woman is not afraid to use them.

Back to perception.  During this time I heard a lot....a lot of "blah blah blah blah" In one ear and out the other. So many "You are SO strong, you are amazing, You can get through it, You will get through it, you need to be happy, every day can't be a sad day" All of these words just pissed me off....I didn't want to hear it. I didn't need too. All people have good intentions done wrong. I perceived this "doctor" as a murder, his peers perceived him as having bad judgment.  I perceived myself as a brick wall. Smile, laugh, smile, laugh, happy. But really,what I didn't see was myself.

I was running on empty and slowing down fast, My car was over heating and the engine was going to explode. I didn't take the time to slow down because that would mean I would need to process everything. Processing everything would mean moving on to the next step. The next step in the stupid 5 stages of grief...acceptance....the funny thing is I don't even think I had hit on the first two in order to get to acceptance, I knew she was gone, I knew she wasn't coming back. To me that was acceptance. I could live my life on the wild side because now I didn't have anyone to answer too. I could hang out with who I wanted to because who cared. I could have 20 people in my little house like a Greek orgy because it was better to be around people rather than be alone. 

I was going down hill but didn't see it yet. I wonder if my cousins did...I'm sure they did. All in all these months were pretty boring in retrospect. My clock was ticking, my pot was boiling, and my gas take was pretty low....I still had a few kicks in me though.

April

Again, April is a blur. A mess of school, work, school, sleep, sleep sleep. I was sleeping a lot so my friends wanted me to go out and socialize. I don't remember April. But I do know my next project began. Something my mom had done, was go back to college. She was about 9 credits short of graduating when she passed away. When I originally contacted ASU, I asked if they would give her an honorary degree. They told me "NO".

Much to my dismay I was pretty angry. I decided this was not an appropriate answer. I wrote a letter to the Dean, Governor, and other big wigs in the ASU community. I took a long time writing this letter and making sure once again it was perfect. Looking back, the theme of my life stated to be perfect and angry. I sent this letter along with 700 signatures and probably some other stuff too. Then I sent it in to wait. My main point of this letter was to tell them who my mom was and that she had worked in the field of child development for 28 years, I reasoned with them that the experiences she had in the real world and the work place, is what led to her knowledge of children, not what she could sit and reiterate on a test from text books. She deserved this! 

During this time, my night activities also progressed. In my mind, this is what normal 23 year old people did. Partied until 4 am. I think some other 23 year olds didn't have a major emotional trauma going on. I kept it cool for now but the clinginess started. I created this world where I didn't ever want to be left alone. I didn't care who was at my house or sleeping over, As long as I didn't have to be alone. Being alone meant that I had to think about everything and my mind wasn't ready to rest. I knew that I wasn't processing everything. I would cry all night in my sleep. I gained a bunch of weight and on my off time, I would sleep. In retrospect, it wasn't abnormal. I had my day from 7-5 pretty jammed packed with work and school. I would fall asleep around 5:30 wake up at 8:30 and go back to sleep.

 

Jump ahead to summer- JUST for a second. I was sitting in my back yard and the phone rang. I answered it....It was ASU, the lady on the phone told me some good news. She said that ASU had decided to give my mom the degree. I burst into tears. "OK, OK, OK" Thank you!!! I called my grandma and could barely spit it out. She was very happy too!  One more task down, one less thing to keep my mind occupied. 

I was elated that my mom was given her degree. I also was proud that I challenged the Education system at ASU basically telling them that they way they educate people is not effective and needs to be changed, I feel with them agreeing to give her the degree, they agreed with the fact that there are issues and flaws within the educational system. Lauren 1 traditional education 0...

April and May came and went. I passed all my classes and now all I had to do was work. As my tasks and responsibilities left my head, my emotional state stated to get a little more ridiculous. My need to always be with someone grew. Again, I didn't care who it was as long as I didn't have to be alone. My anxieties rose, my tiredness grew. I would fall asleep at my desk for short periods of time. I would wake up and go back to work. I was disorientated most of the time, sick and in physical pain. My family started to wonder if I was depressed. I said "No, helloooo, havent you seen what has been going on?" I think one of my turning points is when I decided to go out in the middle of the work week. I NEVER did this. We stayed up all night .... still going strong. I wasn't as worried as everyone else around me.

February / March the beginning of a down ward spiral

Have you ever felt like you were being punished for something and have absolutely no clue the reason why? I have. Have you ever been punished and know exactly why? I have too. During my moms short illness I thought, "I really hope this isn't his punishment, his lesson." I think I believed the same for myself. 

The next 9 months were a blur. So we can start where we left off. 

February 23rd: We all sat at my grandmas house. We had a funeral to plan. Choose the prayers, the dates, the songs, the clothes, write an obituary. I sat there with my cousin and my aunts and my grandmas. Trina and I sang songs to pick fitting ones for a funeral. I would interject when I heard something that I didn't like in the obituary. I wanted to say something "I want, I want, then finally, I just want to go home." I went home that night. Took my meds, got in the shower and cried. I cried so hard that I rubbed my eyes raw. I crawled into bed and cried some more. I woke up and my eyes were swollen shut. I cried all night in my sleep. I stared sleeping with my door locked because I didn't want anyone to come in if I was screaming in my sleep. 

February 24th- February 28th or so: The planning:

We had planned everything out. The songs, the prayers, the days, the wake. My next job was to get the clothes she had picked out to be buried in. When I heard she had picked them out, I grew a little angry with her. She promised me she would fight. I went to my dad's house and started looking for the outfit. I think it was purple. She bought it to wear when she got skinny. I guess now, here was her opportunity. I started picking through her clothes. My tears grew louder and faster, before I knew it, I was ripping all her clothes out of the closet and on to the floor. Screaming in sorrow. I sat on the floor and smelled her smell. It hurt so badly. I regained my composure and placed all of her clothes back. I left her house and brought her dress where it needed to go. 

The wake had to be within these few days. The family got to get there early to see the body before everyone else did. I was looking at the pictures and heard some hurried feet. "MY BABY" My grandma was at her casket and crying. My heart broke for her at that moment. My grandpa wobbled down on one knee and touched her shoulder. Parents are not supposed to put their children in the ground, no matter how old they are. I looked at her. She had makeup painted on her face. I didnt like that - she hated makeup, it suffocated her. Floods and floods of people came in. All I saw were red faces, no names, no feelings. My moms friend Cheri stopped in her tracks and whispered in my ear "you will drive in your car and burst into tears, you will listen to a song and burst, you will see a picture, a movie, a card, a smell and break down, take those moments and give them to yourself, then you will go on" I keep those words in my heart and in my head. I went home alone and took my meds, got in the shower and cried, and cried and cried. This is something that was going to become a nightly routine. 

March 1st: Dooms Day. The funeral

My dads family was here as well as most of my mothers. I remember thinking of those ones, the ones who didn't come. "How dare you!. you disgust me. Unforgivable" bye bye out the door. I guess I couldn't really expect much from these few but you would think. 

I changed a few times that morning. I wanted to look perfect for her. A black pocka dot shirt. A velvet vest. I think I had torn all my extensions out but I had black hair and raw eyes. I couldn't do my makeup that well but I looked presentable or so I thought. We got to the the church. I remember running around like a crazy person. Sat my dads family on one side. I saw my friends. LOVE. They were all there to support me. All had deer caught in the head lights look on their face. What did they have in store for them, What was going to happen. I don't know what any of them really thought but that didn't matter so much. They were all there. TT sat behind me. He loves my mom. Mass happened. It was over. One more bump gone over. Then we traveled to the cemetery. There were so many cars. So many. At least 600 people showed up. That made me proud for her. One of my students gave me a card. I hugged her. A six year old had compassion for me. Even though I did not know the kennedy's I felt like the Kennedy family in that procession with all the cars following them burying a president. The driver took the long route because he wanted to give her one last ride in the city. We got to the cemetery. We got out of our cars. The tears in the crowd were hot and wet. There was dirt and flowers, holy water and more prayers. She is with her family here. People dispersed. I didn't want to leave her alone here. I wanted to jump in the casket, in the ground and lay there with her. Maybe for just a moment maybe forever. We finally left and went to my aunts house for the reception. People were laughing, eating. This is what she would have wanted. 

That night I went home. Got in bed and cried. A loud cry. My brother called me and told me to get up. I said no. He said, "You are not going to sit and cry by yourself. We will cry together, get up, my friends are coming to pick you up" We got to salty senoritas. All my cousins were there and even baby Kadence- at a bar at 1 month old. That has got to be a record. We sat, drank, laughed cried. I loved my cousins for this moment. They were there. Not the drinking or the partying, but they were there to support. To just be there. 

The next few weeks of March. We had to pick a headstone. This fell on my shoulders, but I am sure I took the job. I wanted something perfect. I chose and angel sitting on a heart. This way she always had an angel to protect her body. Now we had to wait. 

I continued school. I had a lot of catching up to do. I remember missing a science test. My teacher wouldn't let me retake it because I missed it. I reasoned with him, that I was at my mothers funeral. I believe his response was "do you know how many times I have heard that" It took everything in me not to well up my fist and hit that S.O.B. so my next best option was on his teacher review, I wished him the same treatment of me to be given to his daughters, when he gets cancer and dies. I believe my friend Amanda gave him a similar review. I loved her for that. It takes a bold person to say something balsy and reep the consequences. She stood up for what was right.  I would have had a perfect 4.0 if it weren't for that jerk off. 

Now it was time to start piecing everything back together. My aunt took us to Mexico. She had promised my mom she would take my older brother there. A promise my mom couldn't keep. I decided I was going to read lots of books and not fall into depression. I sat on our porch in Mexico and read. I was sneak drinking the whole time but I am sure that was noticeable. What else to do in despair. We spent week there.

When I came home, I think my friends thought it was time I got back on the horse. They felt my over amount of sleeping wasn't normal. I would go to work and school get home around 5 and sleep. I would sleep whenever I got the chance. They started to urge me to go out and have fun. I couldn't be sad forever. Ha. I started to go out and mask the sadness. Sometimes at first it was too much. I remember some guy wanting to come back and party "My response was my mom just died dick" He didn't know but I took such offense to it. Didn't the whole world know my pain?! My room mate at the time also wanted to make sure we were still having our Saint Pattys day party. I said "sure I guess- of course" So we had the party. This girl was sobbing. I didnt know her but she was sobbing for me. The girls must have told her. I comforted her. "It will be okay, I will be okay" I lie. I didn't know if I was lying to her or myself. At that time, it felt like the truth. I was with friends, and I was numb. Numb to all the pain when everyone was around. I could laugh. When they left I would cry. It was cool. 

Thats how the next few months went....

April: same ole same ole. Going out on the weekends became a regular occurrence...