Jumbled.

I was going to do a part three, but to be honest...writing those two pieces wore me out emotionally. My mood tanked during and after I was done. Instead, I find myself just wanting to write about what I'm feeling and thinking and have been thinking and feeling for the past seven months since her death. This won't have any kind of "pattern" to it. If there's a "flow" it will almost certainly be disjointed. I mainly want to get out all the things I want to say.


I miss my mother. Every day. Having to live in the same house I've lived in for, now, the majority of my life...to see the room where she died every day, to see her in my memory laying there on the floor not breathing..I'm fighting tears just writing this. For a little over 30 years, she was my rock. My mom was the only constant in my life. Even my dad, despite the fact we now have a wonderful relationship and have for the past years since they got remarried...there was a period when he wasn't there. Now, the constant presence, my rock, the person I always came home to..she's not there. And I am drifting. I'm scared.

I'm scared that something will happen to dad, and then I'll be totally alone. I'm scared of something happening to me at my job. I'm scared of pushing friends away by being clingy. I'm scared of becoming dependent. I'm worried and lost. Physically and emotionally and mentally, I feel weak. My memory has gone downhill - I remember a lot of things so clearly, and others..I can't even remember simple conversations I've had a month ago. I've always relied on my great memory. Emotionally, I'm more up and down than I've ever been before. Which is taking a toil on myself and on my friends, family and coworkers. I'll be fine one day, and all it will take to sink my mood is a remark that either I take the wrong way or is intended to be hurtful. Mostly the former. I joke about being a "pocket volcano" but sometimes it's the truth. I go off. I don't think before I speak. And you can't always do damage control. I'm utterly grateful that I have understanding and supportive family and friends - but everyone has a point.

I saw a therapist. My work provided a certain amount of therapy sessions for free, and I had two left before I had to start paying. My counselor suggested I save the two for when I felt like I truly needed them. Which, I could always go back..but it doesn't change things. My mother is dead. She is not coming back. And I am so fucking angry. I've hit walls, pillows, thrown things, almost broke my tv remote throwing it against the wall. I need to get a punching bag to take my anger out on, or something..I've screamed at times, when I've been alone in the house.

The day mom was buried, I told God that I wouldn't be talking to Him for quite some time, if ever again. Because it wasn't fair. How many times had I told her in December before her foot surgery that 2013 was going to be her best year yet? She had a shitty 2011, was in the hospital twice during the first 3 months of 2012, but after her first trip she quit smoking (after smoking for most of her adult life - the fact she had enough will power to quit made me so fucking PROUD), and she was finally on the right dose of medication across the board. She wasn't overdoing her pain medication (she trusted me to keep track of the pills, and never took more than she was prescribed because the fear of becoming addicted kept her from it), her regular medicines were keeping her other health problems in check, she was in the process of getting dental implants so she could eat the foods she hadn't been able to in past years, and her first foot surgery went so well...she was going to be able to walk pain free for the first time in a decade or more. She was doing everything right. I was so proud of her, telling her time after time that 2013 was going to be so fantastic. That we would go back to New York, or Vegas or heck even Italy. She wanted to go back so much...

After all that, despite the fact that so many others deserved to go before her...she went first. I had people tell me, "God wanted an angel so He took her." THAT MADE ME SO FUCKING MAD. Because I had never, ever seen God as selfish but that struck me as the most selfish thing of all. Taking someone because He wanted that person? What about us? What about the people that wanted her here? She told me so many times she didn't want to leave before she had seen that I would be okay and taken care of. But no. Yes, I know, life isn't fair, bad things happen to good people, yadda yadda...but for someone who had a solid faith..it broke my faith, among other things. And since then, I haven't properly prayed. It bothers me sometimes, that I just don't care about my relationship with God. But I can't bring myself to lie and to force something that He would already know isn't genuine. And it makes me wonder...is she in Heaven? Hell? Limbo? Paradise? Maybe she's in the ground, trapped in her corpse, in that tiny blue box surrounded by dirt. Yes these are all things I have considered. When I look up at the stars at night, the few I can see, I wonder. Can she see me? Can she hear me? Is she in pain? Or is she just gone?

Oh yes, I do believe there are people who should have died before my mother. Even some members of my own family that don't take care of themselves the way momma did. That are stuck in their own addictions and don't have the will or the drive to get out of them like mine did. Some have told me that they believe they would have gone before her, and I think, "You should have." Cold? Cruel? Yes. But it's true. My mom went through so much to get her health back on track, her LIFE back on track...and in the end, it didn't mean a fucking thing. Makes me wonder about life.

Anger is the most prevalent. That, and guilt. Because I took care of her. I was sleeping five fucking footsteps from her door. And I didn't hear her fall like I have so many times before. If she yelled or cried out, I didn't hear her. I wasn't there. I've been there so many times before when she's fallen and needed me to help her get back up. I've been there to call 911 when she was unconscious. I've been there to sort through her medicines, to call them in, to take her to doctor appointments, to help her walk when she couldn't. I WAS ALWAYS THERE. And when she needed me, in those five or six hours between when I saw her last and when dad woke me up, I wasn't. I wasn't there. No I don't know if I could've saved her, if anyone could have. The autopsy said that, long story short, it was a heart attack. I cry bullshit. She saw her cardiologist, someone that saved her life back in 2006 when her carotid had built up so much it was starting to block her blood flow, in September. Three months before she died. And the doctor said her heart was strong. So what happened in the 3 months that passed? What did she miss? What did I miss? How could this have happened??

I don't know. I have no answers. All I have is just overwhelming loss and insecurity and fear and anger. So much anger.

And guilt. Because, before, the only times I went away for long periods of time were SHIMMER weekends. Mom grew comfortable enough to see me off without any concerns. But I always called to check in on her. And in 2011 there was Vegas and England, but otherwise that was it. Last year, there was Montreal but it was also for a weekend. Likewise up to visit Stephanie and go to AIW in Cleveland. Never for long. But now...now, I have new and more responsibilities, but also more freedom. And I hate to admit that, because momma was never, ever a burden or a liability. She worried about the fact that I didn't get out much, but I never wanted too. For the most part, I was content. Now? In the last 7 months, I've been to New York to visit Eric and go to WrestleCon; Berwyn for SHIMMER; and numerous wrestling shows that are 3-5 hours away. As I've started watching more wrestling and seeking out what there is in my area, I've become a fan of new people - and just as I was willing to travel to see the female wrestlers I was a fan of, so I've become willing to travel to see the male wrestlers I've become a fan of. Indiana, Illinois, Tennessee. And several times I've felt guilt pangs. Because I never would have done all this, gone to all these places, if mom had been alive most likely. My weekends were spent with her. Every time a trip has come up this year, I've struggled with the guilt I feel about going which makes me reluctant to go. Every time. Each time I've gone, and I've had great times, and great experiences, and gotten to know more people...but each time, I struggle with the guilt. And also the guilt of leaving dad although he tells me time and time again not to feel guilty, to go, to have fun, to live.

I want to. But the guilt doesn't fade. I worry, I fret, and usually for nothing I admit. Going to SHIMMER was cathartic. I truly needed to be with friends that were more than friends - they were family. The hugs I received helped me more than I can ever say. The first wrestling show I went to after mom's death came..I think two or three weeks after her funeral. It was Crossfire Entertainment in Nashville, TN. It was where I met Jessicka Havok. I was reluctant to go - but I'm so glad I did. She nearly jumped over the table when she saw me (legit) and gave me the biggest hug I'd ever gotten. I could've started crying but I didn't. Getting to finally meet her...that started the long healing process. I finally got to tell her how much that experience, and how much her friendship, meant to me in May.

In truth, I could spend the rest of this entry explaining what each person I know and love has done for me. The Voxes, the text messages, the Tweets, the emails...and the hugs. Most of all, the hugs. Because I miss that the most with mom. She was always there to hug me before I left for work, to hug me when I came home, and to hug me before we went to sleep. You honestly don't know how much a simple gesture like that MEANS UNTIL IT IS GONE. And I am closer to so many of my friends than my family...in ways small and large, it's only because of them that I'm doing as well as I am.

I hate being alone. I never realized it until I had to start coming home to an empty house (my dad drives a truck for Wal-Mart, and he's gone Monday morning to Friday night, although that's recently changed a bit) - how many times have I come home and yelled, "Mom I'm home"? Too many. Too many have I opened her door, expecting her to be there...and she's not. Too many times have I actually HEARD the stairs creak like they do when someone's walking up them, and looked up expecting her head to start appearing. Which it never does. I despise being alone. At SHIMMER, I roomed with Cryssi, and drove her, Shanti, Steven and Torri around. I sat with them during the shows. Hung out with them, Katelyn, Chris and so many others during the after party. At AAW the Friday before, I finally met Angelus Layne and Alex Castle, after having corresponded with them via Twitter since becoming a fan late last year. I consider them the brother and sister I never had. It meant more than I can say to have Anthony come and attend Sunday's show with me, talk with me extensively at the after parties, and then encourage me to sing at Karaoke on Sunday night. I have never sang at Karaoke before, ever. Too shy. But with his encouragement I got up and poured my heart out...and in that moment, I felt free. I was NEVER alone during that SHIMMER weekend, and I thank God for the friends who were there for me. Precious people. And when I cried, I had friends there to comfort me. The love I felt that weekend helped me so much.

But recently, I think I've become too needy, too attached. I think it's why I've spent so much more time on Twitter - because even when I'm in the house by myself, there's almost always someone online I can chat with, even just casually. I am not connected physically, but via the internet, I'm not fully alone. But I feel like I've started trying to fit myself in with people too much - like forcing a square peg into a round hole, so to speak. In my need to not be alone, I think I'm trying to force myself into groups that I don't belong to. I had a wonderful few days when I went to Illinois for Dreamwave - the best weekend I'd had since December, or so I thought - but now..now I don't know. Maybe I'm trying too hard to be...I don't even know, too hard to be a friend? An insider? A support? A cheerleader? Or, I'm trying in the wrong ways.

Maybe I'm trying to find more people to be that "rock" that mom was. Not in a romantic sense, but that I can rely on, like I relied on her. My sister always thought I clung to her too much though.  That was something she threw at me during the fight we had in February 2012, that I would never make it in the real world without her. And maybe she was right. Maybe, when dad is gone, and I'm truly on my own I won't make it. Maybe I'll sink. There were times I considered suicide after mom died. Maybe, when dad's gone, that will be enough to drive me over that point.

Because you can't rely on ANYONE BUT YOUR GODDAMN SELF IN THIS LIFE. Everyone else LEAVES or DIES or lets you down. And it is stupid, so fucking stupid to think that that isn't true. Or maybe I will grow hard enough to survive on my own. Hard enough, strong enough, harsh enough, cold enough. The one person I thought would always be there, or that I would at LEAST have enough time to say goodbye to (like we had time with Nannie) to is GONE out of my life and I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get to save her like I had before, and you know what? You don't get to save anyone. You can only save yourself. You can only look out for yourself. I am crying so hard right now, I want to scream but I can't because dad is in the other room and he's already worried enough about me. I am so angry and lost and confused and jumbled and nothing will ever be the same again. I'm shaking. Honest to God, I want assurance that it will be okay and the one person I always counted on to be there to tell me it would be okay is GONE. GODDAMNIT.

I've been working on this since Friday, and that last paragraph was set off after getting mad over something on Twitter. See? I am unstable. I am that goddamn volcano. Sometimes I wonder if I'm losing my fucking mind. I have such good days, such great days and then it falls apart. Like a glass that breaks. But I don't want to be fragile. I don't want to need anything or anyone. But humans are social creatures by our very nature. I've always wanted to fit in somewhere, but I always always feel like a god damn tag along, no matter how hard I try or what I do. I feel absolutely sick to my stomach. It's now that I see how pathetic I am. I want to put my fist through this computer screen and it's taking every ounce of self control that I still have to not do it.

I've been called crazy, I've been called a whore, I've been called a ring rat, I've been called a momma's girl. Maybe I'm all of that, maybe I'm none of it. Maybe I'm looking for something that I'll never ever find - complete acceptance. Mom gave me that - and now she's gone. And I don't know what to do. I don't know how to find peace or joy - the wrestling events I went to, the time spent with friends, that's all I've found that gives me joy since she died. But what happens when I become too reliant, too clinging, too needy, too desperate? What happens when one by one they draw away? What happens when my dad dies and I'm truly alone? I don't know. I used to be so sure, about so many things and now I'm not. I'm not sure about anything, not God, not faith, not anything. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I am pathetic. I feel like it.

I feel tired. And I could keep going but now I've drained myself. My eyes are red, my face is ugly, all the emotion and the anger I've pounded into this poor keyboard until my fingers have hurt. And it all just starts to repeat. There's no point. Hemmingway once said that life breaks us, and when we heal we're stronger at the broken points. But sometimes, we just stay broken.