AH!

The closeness of school is sinking into my brain now. I just bought some school supplies and am taking a break from organizing all my stuff. I can't wait. Eight days, not counting today.

Life is so great.

I remember those moments of dread when thinking about school. Or the moments I DON'T remember while IN school. All of the mistakes I've made are now being rectified. I am doing what I should.

Today I had a moment of complete anger and sadness. I realized all the things Mike was going to miss. It's amazing.....if he were still alive, I might not even invite him to these events (the wedding, my graduation, etc). I would be so afraid of him showing his ass and embarrasing me. But I want the choice. I want to be able to NOT invite him because I'm mad at him, not because he's dead. All I wanted today was to hear Mike and Dad yell at the top of their lungs, "Soaker Leigh" as I get my diploma from Roosevelt. I wanted to have that feeling of falling through the floor, embarrased, because of him and something he did.

I was so pissed at him. His birthday is in two days. Maybe that's why I'm thinking of him. The anger was so real, so palapable. I could taste the rage in the back of my throat. I could feel my nails digging into my palms as I cried on Steve's side of the bed. I was a flame, cursing his name and what he did to our family. I was cursing him for putting Mamaw and Mom and Dad and Amy and everyone through this.

I just want the option to not have him there for something that's going on in my life, and that was taken from me. I want the knowledge that if he couldn't make it to something for some reason, it was because he was being a jerk, or working, or out of money, or out of state, not because he shot himself in the chest and bled to death in his bedroom. The anger is back and is very real.

The thought of school is what's keeping me happy right now. Of course, Steve is still wonderful and things with us are great. Money, eh. Money is nothing compared to the feeling of getting that phone call last January from mom. Mom, who woke me up from a dream where I was getting shot in the head. Mom, who's voice I didn't even have to hear to know something was horribly wrong. The thoughts of all the people ran through my head.....who was it? Who was dead or hurt or missing? Who was it this time? Who were we going to have to get used to not having in our lives? Then her voice. The crying. The almost screaming. I did scream a bit. A small one, but enough of one to wake up the cat. And misunderstanding mom and thinking his note was blaming us, the family. I drove for over four hours thinking we were to blame for his suicide and he was pissed enough at us to leave it in his note. It wasn't us. It was HER. SHE, the one with no soul. The one I would love to be in a room with for five minutes, alone.

But the blame can't stop there. Blame. I know, it's common for people who live while someone they loved killed themselves, all the 'what if's' and 'if only I...'. I'm not doing that anymore. But there is some geniune, certifiable blame to lay on some people, and I'm not afraid to do that. Is it keeping me from really dealing with his death? Maybe. Does it give some sort of cold comfort, knowing there is someone to place the blame on? Maybe. Do I give a shit right now? No. Not really. Not at all. Those who created Mike, who made him who he is/was, those are the ones that are going to burn for this. One already is. I only wish he was alive to see what he created, to feel the pain of losing a child, to see what destruction this bullet created. I would give anything to have him come back for one day, the day mom and dad found him, and have to KNOW that HE did this.

And now, I am done. I don't really feel much better, but I guess I will. Hell, school starts in eight days. Tomorrow is a murder mystery. That's always fun. It's a beautiful day out. That's good.

I keep going back to last semester.....it started less than a week after getting back from the funeral. And it was my first ever 4.0 semester. While I hope to god nothing like that happens again, I can always be proud of the fact that I got all A's during that horrible time, and can strive to do that again, minus the pain and grief.

We will heal from this. We need to get past the year of 'firsts'. The holidays, his birthday, all of our birthdays without a call or email or card. He always got me these horrible cards with women in bikinis on them, making some sort of sexual joke because he was so proud I was a lesbian. We had something in common, I guess. Thank god my tastes in women, while not always perfect, were so much better than his.

But I am going to miss him yelling at my graduation. And there's that part of me that will miss the gnawing in my gut, worrying if he's going to do something stupid at the wedding.

Damn him. Damn him for doing this to us. His rage at HER was more influencing than the love of his family. And while we didn't always like him or his decisions, we always loved him. That's part of being a family....you're not always liked, but you're always loved.

Damn him.....