Wish you were here...

Dear mum, I saw you yesterday, on all souls day. Were you really there?  My day started out... not the best. I was in pain with my ribs, having woke up screaming in the middle of the night because they did that popping thing. (My Tietze Syndrome) Then I was letting some stress weigh on my chest; it's heaviness sinking deep, and spreading to my back and underarm. It really kept my mood on the lowest setting.  I was talking to Kevin as this was happening and I said to him, "I'm going to be sent to an early grave." It wasn't long after that, I got a call from Jason. Of course. We have these psychic tendencies, running on both sides of the family, and he always seems to know the moments something isn't right. Like the day before you passed, when we were trying to get you to the hospital. I opened the door, and he was standing there. "I fucking knew it!" he said, coming in to help carry you. "I knew something wasn't right."  So there it ...

Dear mum, last night I had a trippy dream. I know that's not unusual for me, as I make movies every night I sleep. But this one, it was the most random one in awhile, yet quite poignant.  So it started with me getting to meet Blue October. I feel like my love for them, from the age of 16 when I first heard "Hate Me", turned to obsession after you passed. They always got me through, as if their music was a vital piece of my survival. A coronary artery, keeping my heart in check. Maybe I tried too hard for that to be the case for you, too; theirs being the last music I would constantly play for you, jumping from one song to the other, while all you wanted to do was rest after your chemo. Keep going, mum...  Anyway, I don't know how I managed to get a chance to meet them in my dream, but it was happening. Only, ten minutes before, an announcement came and a scene played out where Justin, the lead singer, was approached by a man wanting his jacket. Justin didn't wa...

Dear mum, I'm afraid of dying. I know it's a heavy, morbid subject, but I can't seem to escape the thought lately. Aunty Betty passed away on Friday the 13th. (October) Who wrote that script?  I feel selfish, because talking about her funeral with dad, all I can think of is your funeral. It's the last one I attended, and given it was yours, I was never not going to think about it. But with the family getting smaller and smaller, it's stuck there in my throat; spilling out in the middle of the night.  "Joey," I shoved him awake. "Joey, I'm scared of dying."  "You're scared of dying?"  "Yes."  "You're not going to die. You'll be okay." He fell asleep again, and I continued to stare at his back. I thought about you, how sudden you went, and then I feared the same happening to me. To dad. To Joey. Oh God, where do we go? Will we all meet again? Will I ever feel a mother's hug again...  Mum, I ...

Dear mum, Want to know something mental? Before the second Christmas without you, I blew all my savings on a trip to Italy. Doesn't seem that bad, eh? But listen... I never went.  So what happened was, I met a guy. There's always a guy, right? I met him online while I was wrapped up in my grief, and I think we were both using each other to escape/feel better, as he wasn't in the best place either. Not a bad man, but a stranger. That's important to remember when I go on to tell you, I was planning on staying with him for 10 days on this trip. I know, mum. It's like I was getting more stupid by the day - like true crime wasnt one of my most visited genres.  Everyone warned me against it, and they were convinced he was manipulating my feelings to eventually come back with me for a green card. Wasn't the case. I'd laugh it off, "I'm the one looking for a fuckin' green card". I felt like a bee in a jar, mum. I was trapped and there weren...

Dear Mum, Did you ever read The Yellow Wallpaper? Maybe you did, as you flew through books like nobody's business!  Anyway, I'm sitting here, having my own descent into madness. Here, by the way, is the house I've been staying in until we - me and Joey - move in to our first home. I'm sitting on the kitchen floor, Dragon Soop in hand, staring at the paper peeling off the wall. Yellow paper. Bit on the nose, eh? Given it's a day where I'm fighting with my depression. Not manic today, just majorly down in the dumps and for want of a nicer phrase, "not giving a fuck". Crazy that, innit? Not giving a fuck, when giving too much of a fuck about everyone and everything is the problem. Heart's no longer on my sleeve - it's swinging from my fuckin' throat like a pendant on a necklace. Fascinating to look at, but irritating as anything to keep it dangling there.  God knows why the paper is peeling now. Or was it like that when we got here? It...