Pre-note: For a bit I was mad, I lost my blog, forgot the website, and the name I gave it, and when I was ready to begin searching I got grounded from my computer. So today I earned it back and went searching, finding it within the first minute of looking made me even more upset, then the idea that someone or anyone stumbled across it and has been waiting for a new post sent me into a figurative rage. So, I will post what happened today, I think this blog will become my journal. So this is my day.
ψ- Memories, big parts of who you are…. -ψ
I sat there, playing my new game Modern Warfare 3, distracting myself as I do all day from the constant agony of arthritis, and life itself. When my Bat-Dar, (a word my best friend came up with for my insanely good hearing, to put it into perspective, I could be in my room with the door shut playing a shooting game, and hear every word you say two rooms away…whispering), my version of radar hears my mother talking privately with my sister about the past, and all of the good memories. Now, another thing im good at is memory, I can remember my first day of kindergarten, how long it took me to get to school, who called me Forrest Gump because of my disease that day (my name used to be Forrest, but due to teasing i changed it), the buildings exact layout (at that time, it might be different now) what we ate for breakfast, how I got it, what I put on it as a topping, and what we learned in class. Memories began to flood my mind and I decide to split off from my distraction and risk the pain to join in on the conversation.
I open the door as they begin to laugh and talk about my middle sister Zoe’s past. I join in, bringing up old memories of me at four putting on a red jumper pajama suit with white studs for grip on the feet, then rummaging threw my Entire dresser and putting on every pair of cloths I could find, then walking- more like waddling- out of my room in front of my mother. I craved that sound she made, that laughter that lightened up the world that was so dark, and made everything alright again. In those days, if it made my mother laugh, it didn’t matter if I was in agonizing pain that day, whatever it was I did it. We go on talking about a Halloween when my mom was pregnant with Zoe, and she was outside in the front yard; I decided to put panty-hoes over my head and burst out of the house to chase her around with my “father.”
I remember coming back inside crying in pain from the exertion, and seeing the long “ears” and odd face that the panty-hoes had given me, and began to laugh myself. I have never told her that I tried all day long to see her smile and hear her laugh, and I never told her that in those times I did make her smile or laugh, it was an agonizing experience for me, but like she taught me I put on a brave face. Those past experiences have made me a bitter person now, every smile or laugh I ease out of her or myself just reminds me of pain. Now that both happiness and pain are one I have no real joy in this world. Every day memories and regrets from the past cycle through my head like a broken record, wishing to put an end to it, but then knowing it would take the smiles, and laughs away forever.
I don’t know what to do anymore, I feel like a shadow cast by a former me, and the sun is slowly rising in a cloudless sky from all directions. As I type my fingers cramp and knees cry for more morphine I just can’t take, and that still isn’t enough to squelch the mildest of the pains. I know I must keep living, a felling is pushing me on, but I do not know why and where it will lead me. I do little things these days, study for me G.E.D., which I feel will accomplish nothing, play games, and write a book, I’m calling it “Last Child.” I feel…like, like butter, scraped over to much bread, a bag, caught by the wind, or a flower that will never see the sun.
– Jonathan Forrest Jagger