There Are These Moments When You

...find a pair of yellow hospital socks your sister gave to you because yours had a hole in it. You told her it’s ok, you’re not cold, and she should rest. But she scoffed and said, “Seriously?! There’s a hole in your sock, Kang.” And you smile because you know you’ll miss that, the bullshit she calls you on, you know there are few who gets to do that.

...notice the stain on your shirt, your favorite white shirt completely stained from your makeup because you can’t stop crying and so you wipe your tears away with the cuff of your favorite white shirt, and you’re left with this stain on your shirt and you cannot stop but think, “Damn. Why do I wear so much makeup. Why the eff do I do that?”

…cannot look a stranger in the eye because he just might notice that you’re so sad and he might ask why, then you would cry and you’d have to tell him why and you won’t be able to stop and you would go on and on, and then he would know why, why you’re so sad, and you just don’t want to do that, not to a stranger, not like that, not yet.

Advice

Unfortunately, it’s not such a strange world we live in when mom’s best advice is: He can remarry because men can’t live without women, but you can’t remarry because God will punish you.

It’s funny how when you tell people you’re getting divorced, you’re all of a sudden also getting remarried. Trust me, mama. I learned my lesson the first time around.

Hands

Mornings are the hardest. I go for walks; I could walk for hours. I feel like I can’t walk far enough, long enough, fast enough. I try not to go there, not to ask why. It can pull me deep into a pit of despair. There are these photos on my phone. They are reminders, witnesses really, because memory is such a fickle thing. There is a picture of our hands. Mine is bandaged because she scratched me and clawed me until I bled. Hers is bruised because she was restrained to the hospital bed. They said, “She would hurt herself.” I can still see the ICU with its dim lights, feel its cold fear, smell its disinfected air. I can still hear her singing hymns at the top of her lungs, pleading with God for mercy. I still cry at church because the songs gnaw at my heart, the words filled with unfettered truth. I am waiting for that one Sunday when I am numb enough to shed not a single tear. It will be welcoming. It will be maddening.

The Thing with Depression

I watched "Parts Unknown" for much of last summer. I even started watching Eric's show "Avec Eric". I really liked these two, and it's even more sad that it was Eric who discovered Anthony's body. For me at the time, life was starting to become toll-some. It was comforting to watch these two. You could tell there was a real friendship there, at least I hope. One never really knows.

The thing with depression is that many of us do not even know we are suffering from of it. Sometimes it takes an act of love (often out of frustration) to finally show us how far down we've already gone down that dark hole. And as we can see, many of us do not return from the darkness.

The thing with suicide is that usually when it finally succeeds, it wasn't the first attempt, or even the second or third. We will never know how many times he's already tried it, or how many ways he's thought about it. It happens in passing; it happens when you think about the mechanics of it or when you justify the reason for it or when you think about how your family will survive it. Often times, you're already so deep down inside the thick of it, that when you finally work your way back you know it was by the skin of your teeth, or that someone up there was watching out for you. But you know the battle isn't over and with each passing moment you may just be traveling a little closer to your fate. Sometimes inside of depression and suicide, you think you cannot escape it. It does a number on your psyche and your soul. It convinces you that you deserve it.

That is a little bit of what it's like to live with depression, to have been suicidal, to struggle against it every day. I know there is a light. I live with it. I know there is a dark. I live with it. Often times being loved or feeling worthwhile has very little to do with wanting to live or wanting to die.

Each one of us suffers differently. I do not know what it is like to be someone else living with depression or suffering from suicidal tendencies. I only know what it's like to be me living with it. Let us remember that.

https://www.thewrap.com/anthony-bourdain-eric-ripert-chef-best-friend-parts-unknown/

It Is My Suitcase

I emptied it today. Completely. It is the first time in over two months that it is empty. Even when I was home for a few weeks in between my visits with my sister, it was never completely empty. I lived out of it for a while. It was a companion of mine, comforting even with its cold hard exterior.

My nephew (Nue's son) said to me as I was leaving a couple of days ago, "I'll see you in another two weeks. You're always leaving and coming back, so I'll see you soon." I wish, little one, I wish.

My suitcase, it sits empty now. My heart, too afraid to move.

March 23, 2018

My sister Nue passed away last night surrounded by so many loved ones. She fought until the very end. I am so very proud of her and of her family, all of us who stood tall by her side.

I did not just lose a sister, I lost a soulmate: someone who knows me, someone who is a part of me, someone who shares my story. I know that I can only talk to her now in my past, but I will carry her forever in my heart.

May she rest in peace.

Green

One early exhausted morning, I asked Nue what is her favorite color.

"Green," she replied, gritting her teeth through the pain, "like the dress that I wore at your wedding. I like that color green."