It's strange that no matter how many times someone says "careful what you wish for," you still end up wishing for things you shouldn't. I, for example, wished I could have my depression back in exchange for my anxiety. Well, dear readers, it's been maybe almost a week since I've had a panic attack but I've also had absolutely no motivation whatsoever nor desire to leave my bed for quite some time.
This is most likely tied to what happened to the person I told you was sick in the hospital last post. He did not make it. The little bit of logic-defying hope I had in the admittedly absurd concept of prayer has since been dispelled and I'm back to good old reason and science. Yet this time I feel somehow more empty than I did before. Is it because there were literally hundreds of people stretching across each coast of the United States praying for him almost nonstop? Or is it really just because someone who make me feel capable and intelligent, who was more generous and kind than anyone else I know, that I worked alongside for two summers, is now gone? Considering how very brief my desire that prayer somehow could heal was, it probably is the shock of Bobby being gone.
Death is rarely fair and I know this. Yet I feel frustrated and defeated. I know moping around is not productive, nor something Bobby would want me or anyone else to do, but it's been hard to drag my ass out of bed and do anything. The house is a wreck but I don't care. The sun has been shining lately but I can't bring myself to go outside. I should be writing blog posts but here we are, sixteen days after my last post, finally churning this out to explain why I haven't been posting on here.
To segway abruptly, today is my brother's birthday. I kept meaning to buy him a card but I'm a pretty spacey, forgetful person so I didn't. I would have rather just made him one because I think that's a nicer thing to do but he probably would have thought it cheap and tacky of me. I'm dreading texting him because my brother and I rarely get along. According to him, I'm stupid. Seeing as he's seven years older than me and also had a consistent education in Chicago plus college, my answer to that is, "no shit." According to me, he's hurtful.
That's the fun of having a sibling who was more messed up by your father than you. In the spirit of his birthday, I will leave the negativity at that and instead end on a positive note. Were it not for my brother, I'd certainly be dead already. He not only saved my life but provided for me when my parents could not and that, combined with our big age difference, has always made him more of a father figure than a brother. I idolized him and wanted nothing more than to be just like him for the longest time.
This post has been very hodgepodge. I'm sorry for being all over the place right now. This is part of the reason why I haven't been posting; it's difficult to stay on a single thought process right now. I felt I should explain my absence and maybe even relieve some of the pressure building up inside of me. The next time I post, I promise you it will not only be less depressing but more coherent.