Page 158 of Becoming Us

I didn’t care about the fucking money. I never did. I just wanted time. Was that so unreasonable?

Coming from me? Probably. I suck out all the air in the room. Who’d want to be around that?

I lay on my side, curled up on the floor, and clenched my eyes shut.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

Just leave me the fuck alone.

Stop bringing it all back.

Fucking stop.

But not a second later, I was back in that hospital room, staring at his swollen hand.

The wave came—and this time, it stayed. My chest tightened. I curled deeper into myself and let it crash over me.

Helpless.

Drowning in it.

Why was I even trying in the first place?

To:[email protected]

From:[email protected]

Subject:

I don’t know why I’m even writing this. I figured maybe after everything that happened with Dad, you’d still want to talk. Fuck if I know. I don’t have anybody else to talk to. Lan and Mom aren’t talking right now. They didn’t fight. She’s just gone, and I guess I don’t blame her for wanting to run away from everything.

Hell, I’m in LA right now, and I really don’t want to go back. Did you know she got a new place? The house is gone, along with all of his things. I managed to get my drums back and one of his guitars, the signed one. I’ve got them in storage for now.

I talked to Richard about the rumors. He said Dad never lied. He said the men he worked with did, and that scared him. I think it scares me too. I don’t want people to hate him. He’s fucking dead already.

It’s almost Christmas.

I’m taking antidepressants, but I’m not doing so well. I don’t know if they’re working or not, honestly. I don’t feel very different. Just maybe less hopeful than before.

Do you feel better? Miss him less? I know you were mad at him before he died, but he’s still Dad. And I guess I just want to know if maybe it does get better. It doesn’t feel like it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this bad in my life.

I don’t know what to do about Mom. It’s horrible, dodging her calls, knowing she’s asking for money, having Richard call me and tell me she ran out. I’ve been sending Jaz money to get her groceries, to make sure she’s actually feeding everybody, because she doesn’t show up and doesn’t give a fuck. I’m also worried she’s not doing okay.

But she doesn’t care, Mati. I don’t think she does. I don’t know who to talk to. I don’t know who’d care. I feel so fucking alone.

It’s bad. Things are pretty fucking bad. And I’m not talking about outside. They’re pretty fucking bad in my head. I keep having these thoughts, like maybe I’d drink too much and never wake up, and what I feel is relief. I haven’t slept in a while. Maybe I just need sleep.

I’ve been having nightmares about Dad. They’re not really all that bad when I’m asleep. He’s alive and we’re talking, and then suddenly, I’m awake and it hits me like a punch in the gut that it’s not real. It makes it worse. So much worse.

I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to do this.

I give up.

I fucking give up.

I give

I don’t think I’ll send this. You probably don’t give a fuck about me anyway.