Dear Diary,

Dear Diary, the days

Dear Diary,

It's been a while hasn't it. I'm sorry. Not really, if I was sorry I'd have a good reason and I don't. I didn't have energy to write about how shitty life is. Today was especially shitty, though and I thought I'd let out my sadness and built up anger on a notebook that has done nothing wrong.

When my parents were fighting and blaming each other for her suicide I had a whole planned out conversation in my head. That's how it normally happens, right? You get nervous and you plan everything and you do it and nothing goes as expected. Well I went downstairs to tell them how wrong they both were. We're all at fault here. I got down there and I saw them in the midst of their fighting. They're just as broken as I am, diary. That whole planned out conversation in my head just vanished. Poof. Just like that.

"Honey," my mom whispered.

"Why are you awake? Did you... did you hear us fighting?" I wanted to tell them everything that I've wanted to say but there they were. My dad was in his chair, hair ruffled, his elbows propped up on his knees hands running down his face. He looked so tired as he stared out the window, eyes vacant like a blank canvas. My mother stood there, looking at me with glossy eyes, her hands wrapped around her own waist. It was heartbreaking because all this time I had thought of my parents as assholes for wanting this perfect household.. for thinking that they had this perfect household, for acting like she had never died and to realize how ignorant I am? I couldn't handle it. 

"I've been up, Mom. Sleep is rare nowadays." 

I hugged her, Diary. I hugged my mother. My mother. Not the woman who walked in high heels and was perfect but a mother who had lost a daughter and had a family that was breaking. 

Then I hugged my father, a man who was never one for affection. He was a man that could barely stand me because me and her looked so goddamn alike but I hugged him and my mother joined us. We sat there in eachothers arms, a little space left empty hoping that maybe she'd come downstairs and join us. But she never did and we cried because I lost my sister and they lost a daughter. We cried more because we knew we were broken and we didn't know how to fix it. We cried even more because we missed her more than we missed being happy.

Things get shitty, Diary. 

On February 25th, 3 o'clock p.m. my sister killed herself because I'm selfish.

All I ever wanted was to be happy, Diary.

Is that so wrong?

I really want to be happy.

-Randy