SILENCE IS SO FREAKING LOUD!!

They say that the first year is always the hardest. Turns out 'they' were right. The idea of turning my feelings into words have never been a hard thing for me to do. I love to talk and I like to believe that somewhere, somebody is affected in a way that I am when I read something brilliant. This isn't brilliant though, its not a game. This is real. Its me. My feelings, from the heart.

I used to have dreams that one day broken people would rule the Earth. For my own sanity, as well as others? I hope that never happens. Thats the thing though, about my story.. I was broken beyond belief and I was never good at standing tall. Isn't that the point though, the point of living? Nothing is ever perfect and nothing is more real than reality. Honestly? I'm just surprised I made it a whole year without doing something completely wreckless. But nothing's ever been this big before. NOTHING is bigger than death. I couldn't take care of myself and I let myself go. For the first time in my adult life, I clammed. For those of you who don't know what the expression "clammed" means, its simple really. I shut myself out to the world. There really is no easier way to explain it.

Friday night of October 2nd, 2009. As much as I'd love to forget this day ever happened, it's a string of days in a week that I'll never forget. I had cooked a late dinner, my brother had come home after a few days of partying in Michigan and he decided he was going to have a party. A normality in our home when it came to David. Weekend events in the barn. A few hours later as I sat on the computer talking to friends, writing and what-have-you, my brother came inside, hopped up on the counter and we discussed my mom's divorce (something that had been going on for the past year) we were losing our home and that fight had gotten ugly, quick. Man... I could remember that conversation word for word. He was getting annoying and I told him I didn't care, because I didn't. I didn't care about the divorce anymore. You pick your battles, you know? And I was starting to realize that it wasn't mine anymore. He got mad and than we said goodnight. For a year, I've carried the guilt of how this conversation ended. I made him mad because I said I didn't care. Before I went to bed, I had checked on him and he was fine. We made up, and he wasn't mad that I didn't care about our mom's divorce and I wasn't mad that he'd kept asking me about it. But thats how we've always been. Fighting one minute and best friends again the next. Guilt is a hell of a thing.

Saturday morning I woke up, my sister and mom were already awake, David was still asleep. I was in the bathroom, doing my morning routine and thats when I heard it. You don't forget something like that you know? The screams from a parent, the cries of a sibling. You don't just... get over it. My brother was dead. I was screaming for him to wake up and I was pushing him, trying to get him to wake up.. I couldn't breathe and I felt like nothing was happening. It was too unreal for my brain to process. It wasn't real life. It wasn't MY life... except it was.

And as far as 'what happened goes' I won't go into it because quite frankly? Its none of your god damn business. This town is full of people who love the talk. THEY LOVE IT! If it was the truth? They'd distort it into something else. Nobody is a saint, so how dare you people for talking the way that you did. You know who you are, and you should feel ashamed.

After a week of hell and I mean HELL, I didn't want to be alone with anybody else. I didn't want to have to talk about anything. I didn't want anybody, I just wanted him back. I wanted my brother and I wanted him to be fine and tell me it was a joke. One like we'd played on my sister and like so many others, taken too far. But it wasn't. I started going to lunches on a weekly basis with friends and work was hell for me when I went back. I wanted to stay home, but being there just wasn't an option. I didn't like my mom. I didn't like how she was grieving because I didn't understand than that everybody gets through their own way. I was fresh in a game I was forced to play, and I wanted out.

For the first time in my life I learned what anxiety was. I fought hard when it came to denying I had a problem. I was fine. I was always 'fine'... until I wasn't anymore. There was one person though, and I have to give her credit. She helped me more than I will ever give her credit for. Linda would always question every 'fine' response. Like everybody else in my life though this past year though? I didn't want it. I didn't want the pity, which is what it felt like. I didn't want people telling me things like "it'll be okay, or everything happens for a reason" "his life ended, not yours." So I pushed her away along with anybody else that tried to help me along the way. I want to apologize to those people, because I didn't understand. Still don't, not really... as long as we're being honest.

I quit my job, I was fired from my job, I abandoned every friend I'd ever known and I hated being home surrounded by my family. But I was, if nothing else? I deserved the torture. It took me about maybe up until mid-summer before I could talk to anybody about David without crying, but I was so far in that it didn't matter. This was hell, and I was living it. And I was alone. Sometimes I loved it, and sometimes I wanted to kill myself. To quote one of my favorite authors, "Silence is so freaking loud!!" Depression is a fickle bitch, let me just start out by telling you that. Not only is the mind effected, but the body and spirit as well. Its like cancer. If you beat it, than you win... and if you don't?..