Wolf

 

I read my blog sometimes. When I forget. I forget a lot these days. I’ve forgotten more than I’ve learnt, I’m sure. My grandmother used to tell me stories of her life and at some point during the seven years I lived with her, she began to repeat them. I saw on Facebook once this dumb story about a wolf and a father. Something about him repeating stories to his son, and when his son complained he said I washed you, clothed you, listened to you say the same things again and again as a child and you can’t listen to this? I used to think about that a lot. I would tell myself to be patient, but I would still snap and tell my grandmother, ‘I know’. Eventually she’d say, ‘well, you know everything, don’t you?’. It would make me so angry, and I couldn’t fathom why. I think now it’s because she was calling me out on my lack of patience, and I didn’t like it.  Of course, when you lose someone all you want is more time. More time to know, and to ask questions and to hear the same stories again because I promise you, I’ve forgotten so many of them. That happens when you don’t pass them on to others. I moved up here to a daughter who didn’t want to know about her mother and people that didn’t know me as a child.

 

 

I am 21 now. I have a partner whom I met when I was 19. He used to tell me so many stories of his life and I liked that because like my grandmother who would share with me, he shared. He doesn’t share stories anymore and while relationships, especially first ones are temporary I feel like I’m grieving all over again. I replaced her stories with his in my mind because of my pain and now I’m losing them too. Another blanket pulled back and I’m cold again. Good god, I’m depressing. I need warmth. I need strength. I need.

I looked at my Anilist today. I don’t go on there much because I was working on my profile the night before my grandmother’s stroke, and it makes me angry. I helped start the Anime Watching Challenge, I used to edit the original challenges and rules because it was the only talent I had. I spent so much time on that discord. After she died, I went MIA, and I could barely muster the energy to quit. I keep running from things that make me remember my choices to spend less time with those I love. I just want to tell happy stories, but I never want to write when I’m happy. I’ve been in therapy for over a year now. I thought it would fix my pain, but I run from it in that too.

There’s something very significant about feeling through it. I want to feel it all. I lost the earrings that my grandmother gave me on my 18^th. I lost so many of the stories given to me. I lost my childhood friends and my community through neglect, and while I have rebuilt so much, I lost a lot. I want to feel it. There’s something else too. I lost my Mother. It’s been almost a year since we’ve spoken. Tomorrow I will call her. I’ll let you know how that goes.

Here’s to rebuilding. It takes time, and love, and while it’s better to cherish the foundations you have, that wasn’t possible for me. That’s one thing therapy has taught me. We do what we need to, to survive as best as we can. Compassion is necessary. I wish you all the compassion in the world. 

Until next time

-        -  UBC