Sunday, 13 July 2014

Are We Tough Enough For Ordinary Love?

Watched Mandela the other night. (The one starring Stringer Bell HUBBA.)

The story of Nelson Mandela is one of the most profound, intensely heroic, inspiring stories planet earth will ever know. As the credits rolled, U2 sang Ordinary Love. I knew this song existed because I have a radar for all things U2. But this song slipped through my fingers in the past year as I've struggled and been preoccupied to just stay upright.

I sat there in the dark at the beach house, next to Dave, listening to the lyrics of this song, man, this song. The words. So fucking beautiful and simple. I made Dave buy it on his iTunes straight away right there in the dark (because my account has -$4.20 in it jeez Dave struck it lucky with me!) and we listened to it about four more times while the DVD went back to the mainscreen. I cried, again. These days I am only one thought away from complete annihilation and howling grief. It's actually getting worse lately. You'd think it'd be better, but every platitude I hear, every new realisation I have surrounding the suicide of my very, very deeply loved brother. Sends me swirling. Words can't describe.

Every semblance of shit I have constructed like a leaning tower of Jenga to make meaning and sense of this world has been dismantled, demolished. I am at a loss. Frankly, I'm at many losses. So many awful "ahas" and lightbulb moments and things I wish I had done or said. It burns me up, Computer. I was too respectful of my brothers wishes to intervene when he wanted to spend Christmas by himself in Sydney a few years ago? I went along with his lies, colluded with him because he just didn't want to face time with family, wanted to be by himself. Told him I understood. Listened to him. Hurt for him. Worried about him. What does worry do, exactly? FUCK ALL. I would like to step into a huge vat of boiling water and cook myself red raw like a lobster for being so FUCKING STUPIDLY BLIND.

I would do anything for Cam. I would do anything for him and he knew it. But I still had hope to the very bitter, heartbreaking end that he would be ok. Because I'm ok and I've lived through shit so what's the difference? I don't know. I don't know why he is dead and I am alive. I don't know anything. I am not stronger than him. I am not better than him. Oh, the sentences I could stream out about this all right now but I'd just never stop, could never stop telling you in twenty thousand variations that I love my brother and my brother is dead and it's awful. I hardly let anybody in my heart. But he was my golden, golden boy. He was the light in a shitty childhood. He grew up to be beautiful, wilful, stubborn, arrogant, handsome, caring man. His sense of humour rivals none. But it all went wrong! I want a do-over! I cannot live like this! How in actual fuck do people get through the things they get through?!

Cameron used a full-stop. He should have used a semi-colon. Wait for the light to change Cam please just wait wait wait do not leave me here doing this shit alone.

Reading through old conversations and text messages and emails. He wouldn't sleep for days on end, wracked with panic and a dreadful sense that he'd failed at life. In a group of high-achieving, competitive friends. How often do people think about him, anymore? Anybody else or is it just me, writing this stupid fucking useless blog that so many who knew him in real life seem to read, but can't even say anything to me?

I'm writing this entry from my dinghy, while I'm briefly up for air in between storms. I'm eating a lettuce sandwich with no butter (his favourite) and thinking about McNulty from The Wire (his favourite) and it's about to rain again and I'm wondering why all this water is even here to begin with.

I used read Cam a book at night time before bed called "The Triantiwontigongolope." Googled the stupid words tonight and the whole thing is about resilience and to keep trying in life, even when things get hard. Isn't that a riot?

The morning after we watched Mandela I woke up in the very worst state I can be in: one where I don't want to do anything and I don't want to be anywhere. Brutal. The clock mocks and it's all gone to shit. In desperation I went for a walk after yelling at the boys because yelling always fucking helps really, doesn't it.

Came back an hour later and there's Dave, standing in the kitchen, loving and concerned.

"Hon, what is it? What can I do, to make you better? Anything. Just tell me."

Literally fell into his arms, this guy who's been through the whole wringer with me and I cried so loud and so hard. I don't cry much in front of him anymore because I don't want to worry him.

"Hon I'm sorry! I'm not angry at you! It's just so hard, it's so hard. I miss him. I just want one hour. Even just twenty minutes, with him. I just want to talk to him one last time. You are so lucky you don't feel what I feel inside every day hon, it's awful. It's awful."

Dave hugged me for probably ten minutes straight. My tears soaked his hoodie, wet through. Over and over I just said out loud, "Why couldn't he have just waited? He never got to be a polished stone."

And Dave had no answers because the best and hardest questions in life are often unanswerable because life is a stupid ridiculous shit fuck pooface, is what it is. The only reason I'm still here is because I accidentally had this beautiful family. Because I choose to stay with them, to love them with my shardheart, to say sorry when I fuck up. I cook meals and do the grocery shopping and take the bins out on a Monday night and run out of toothpaste and go for walks and eat yoghurt and sometimes I even smile and laugh but make no mistake - it is a painful thing to be alive.

One day all of this will be over. And if there is a heaven, I expect it to be made out of cake. And if I ever see my brother again I won't even have to say any words because he'll just already know.

I love you Cam and I miss you every millisecond of every stupid meaninglessness minute. I can't read your suicide note again and I only ever read it three times. I don't want you to be all melted and gone. I love drinking out of your red coffee mug but your egg flip makes me so incredibly sad. That doesn't make sense.

It doesn't make sense.

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