Epiphanies at Twenty Is Over

Starting today I am twenty-one years old; therefore, “Epiphanies at Twenty” is over. I was going to publish a final epiphany before my twentieth year was done, but I never got around to it. I’ve been a bit busy with the death of my mother. With that said, I am going to list all the epiphanies I’ve shared so far just because I love you so much. I’m also going to briefly share one now.

Final Epiphany: You Really Do Have to Grow Up

Yes, yes you do. I’ve been trying to avoid it as much as possible, but lo and behold, I have to do it after all. Recently I’ve been noticing instances where I have to do things for myself that previously an adult or parent would do for me. Sometimes I just leave those things alone because I don’t want to do them (because I’m lazy), but the adults are really busy with work and what not so sometimes I have to get off my butt and get them done. (Isn’t it weird that I still say “the adults” like I’m not  one of them?) My mother dying has made me realise even more that I have to grow up. I have to become more and more independent the longer I live, and I have to start getting things done on my own. I can’t keep waiting around for people – grown ups – to come and help me. I have to make the first move and try to do it myself. Not that I haven’t been told this before, I have, but today I had the epiphany. I should actually say yesterday since it’s past midnight. I should have written this post yesterday. Anyway, this is the last epiphany I will share with you for now.

And now, for all the epiphanies in the order they were published:

People Aren’t Perfect, They’re People

Laughter Is a Cover-Up

I Procrastinate Way Too Much

I Live Mostly in Retrospect

I Hate Underwear

I’m a Hater

I’m Selfish

From Life

I have become dead
Singing to water
Sitting on swings,
Branches and leaves
My father never
Put together
That I made
In my mind
When I saw the movie.

I have become
Dead weight
So heavy
It is hard to walk around
I stumble
Over the air
At my feet
And curse it
For being in my way.

I have become
A member
Of the bereaved family.
The one who will be
Prayed for
At a service for the dead
And I think that word
Sounds quite stupid
But it will be written
There in the funeral programme.

And I will sit there,
In the front row,
Because she was my mother
And let some man
Pray for me and my sister,
And my aunts and uncles
And try to comfort me
And the whole time
I’ll just be waiting
For it to all end.

I’m Alright

I’m…alright, I say.
I’m alright, I think.
I smile like I am.
I live like I am.

I’m not.

I don’t want to
plan a funeral.

I don’t want to
have to rely on
memories and photographs
for the rest of my life
to remember my mother.

I don’t want to think
about her house and
how much is left
to pay on the mortgage
that she’s been paying
since I was
six years old.

I don’t want to
go through her things
and find something
to do with them.

I don’t want to
find out if
she has a will
or not.

I don’t want to
hear about suing
the doctors
that did a bad job
on her surgery.

I don’t want to
receive messages
asking how I am
and expressing condolences
over my loss.

I don’t want to
say I’m alright.

I don’t want to
say I’m alright,
or have people tell me
how strong I am
because I’m holding up
so well.

I don’t want to
answer any more
about how my sister
is doing or hear
about how I’ll have to
stay close to her
and guide her
especially now
that my mother
has died.

I don’t like it
that my mother
has died.

I don’t like it
that I’m missing

I don’t like it
that I don’t know
how I’ll catch up
once I go back.

I don’t like
any of this…
but what the
fuck can I do?

Kiss Me

Your dreams won’t come true tonight,
Or any night after this.

Souls don’t perish
Because they want to,
Or because they wish it to be so.

Death is unmistakable
And a lover of us all,
But time telling the story
Always makes it look so tall.

Life being given
Is death as a gift
Wrapped beautifully
In presents
And given with hugs,
Many a kiss.

Kiss me then
As you kill me slowly
And tell me to hang on.

Kiss me as you kill me
Singing my favourite song.

I Found A Person

I found a person,
Lying in the dust
Beneath everyone’s feet,
Beaten and bruised and dirtied.

And I loved her –
That person I found,
Messy and sad with dimmed eyes.

I loved her
Because she looked like me.
She looked almost exactly
Like me.

Among all the paper cut-outs
And empty, lifeless words,
I found a living, breathing person.

And I loved that person,
Because that person looked  like me.

My Own Ghost

What I see is not what I look at, but what I saw years ago. What I felt years ago. What I heard years ago. That is what I see now, what I feel now, what I hear now. What is currently before me, I understand more because of my past than I do because of the present. My eyes. Not mine really. But the eyes that were given to me by my mother and father, my teachers, my friends. My eyes saw what they showed me. My ears heard what they told me. And my heart felt every single thing. Everything. Even though I kept smiling and pretending that I was fine with it all. Who I am now is still who I was before, crying in my green shorts after school. Crying in the bath tub until my head hurt. Crying behind my father’s back. Crying in my mother’s lap. Smiling with my classmates at school, my coworkers, and the people I live with. Somehow conveying the message that I am happy. Who I am now is who I was before; lonely and lost, wanting to be beautiful. Wanting to be a good singer. Staring at myself in the mirror and staring at what I am being told is acceptable. Only half believing that what I am being told is not true. The little girl inside me, being laughed at, being teased. Smiling at them, pretending she is fine. She never leaves me. I never leave her. I don’t think any of us can leave. We are attached to each other by something neither of us know. I thought I had laid her to rest when I placed flowers on her tombstone, but it turns out she walked right out of the graveyard with me. I am my own ghost.