Of Dying + Despair

 I’m triggered. But I don’t want to be. I want that chapter to be sealed and burned until even the ashes are swept into the abyss. I want to pretend that I didn’t have hope, aspirations, a sense of importance, a glimmer of hope. When you’ve been tamped so far down into the dirt, you don’t expect to see the light. But I did, for just a second, only to be pushed further down and covered until the chance of a single ray of sunshine was a distant memory. 

I hate that I let such a trivial thing ruin me so deeply. Fame was never the goal. Somehow I thought I was finally going to be seen and heard for who I am. I thought my child would get the chance to see that a positive future is possible. I wanted them to be seen and heard by their community elders. Acceptance is the thing we’re all clamoring for, isn’t it? And for some reason, I thought something as silly as a make over show would bring that to the two of us. Damn, did that take a turn.

I am one who always feels like I’ve made friends only to find that my investment was far greater than the other’s. Maybe I’m just really lonely or maybe I’m just really optimistic. Either way, I was lead to believe these people were becoming friends. They made sure we knew they weren’t like those other production crews. They cared. Their heroes became family. The Queer Eye Family. Then as quickly as they embraced us, they shoved us away as if we’d never existed. While dealing with my own heartbreak and subsequent relapse of clinical depression and suicidal ideation, I didn’t even see it coming for K. 

Honestly, I thought they were in a more stable place. A nuclear family. Supportive parents. Accepting school. Being told yes-no wouldn’t mess up their psyche like it had mine. They had a better support system. But then it hit, and I had to stop my own feelings to try and mitigate theirs. Every night was another battle in the never ending war of trying to keep them alive. Endless tears. Feeling unloved, unworthy, and unaccepted. Hitting themself until there were red marks and bruises. Choking themself in hopes they’d finally be free of the pain. Every night, I didn’t know which combination of it all I’d be dealt. Would it be holding down their arms in a tight hug for an hour to keep them from harming themself? Maybe two hours of laying in bed crying? Or maybe the occasional call at work from their big brother that they’re doing it again or that they ran away this time? It felt like every day we were playing Russian roulette with their life, and all I knew was that losing wasn’t an option. 

To avoid the feelings I shoved down into the pit of stomach, I threw myself into a job. My days were either filled with work or trying to keep the kid alive. Rinse and repeat. For the next year, that was my routine. Then the job came to a close, and I realized how I purposely burned myself out. I needed to prove to them that I was worthy. I could do it all, see? Am I good enough now? 

But I was not, and I still don’t know what changed. Why were we the perfect family one minute and not a good fit the next? Why was my kid made to believe they were brave and special and valid and then tossed out like yesterday’s garbage with no cause or concern for their humanity? Why do we have to care so fucking much?! 

Almost two years later, and the bitter taste left in my mouth has only gotten stronger. I wish I could move on. I wish I could forget how little they cared when they found out how damaged they left my kid. “I’m so sorry! That just makes us look really bad!” They might look bad, but maybe they should’ve imagined how we felt for a second. But I guess that’s showbiz, baby. 

I wish I could leave this post on a positive spin. Maybe it’s that my kid is still alive and starting to thrive instead of me trying to pick up my broken pieces that just got scattered across the floor again and trampled once I saw the trailer for this season. Moral of the story? I’m a weak person who cares too much about the acceptance of others and who can’t seem to get a leg up, so why even try?! Hopelessness for the hopeless.