Do not be concerned by my tears, by my lack of enthusiasm, my withdrawal from what is outside my front door… I am just tired.
What is the meaning, I am just tired? I will let you know, it is when my wall of excuses is breached and the truth washes away my delusions of grandeur for why my life is meaningful. In truth, I am full of hate and contempt for the betrayal of my brothers. I am a good person, compassionate, and never once did I turn my back to any one of my three brothers, but my being to them has become worthless. That includes the psychopath who raped me when I was thirteen. The images of those moments are so vivid I want to throw up. I have never confronted him on this. We grew up over the following years as if it never happened.
My mother was in the last weeks of her life. She was sitting at my dining room table with her lawyer when she called me into the room and said she was leaving the psychopath out of her last will and testament. I protested and argued she should not do that, “it was not fair,” I said. She was persuaded and he was put back into the will. Afterward, as she predicted, he conned me, trick me out of my inheritance that is now worth over a million dollars. When I asked how he could forge my name on court documents, he said, “I am the only one who can afford to keep the estate.” We have not talked in over ten years.
My eldest brother by six years, Ronnie, was the brother who was always there to listen as I was for him. He joined the Air Force at Eighteen-years-old. I would live with him and his wife from time to time. When he retired twenty-two years later, he settled in North Carolina. He was employed as a jet engine mechanic by a company that was an hour drive each way. At least twice a month he would call me to talk during his drive home. Then the following happened, I wrote to him many times before this last message, none have ever received a reply.
9/12/2016 > Two years ago you called me worried about having your pacemaker replaced. To make sure everything went well, I told you I would call the next day. However, I have not spoken with you since. Two years and I have no idea why you stopped loving me, two years and I have no idea what I did, two years without a clue of why you didn’t want a sister anymore. A while back, I would sometimes worry you might die before I learned what happened to separate our lives. I feared my last memory would be the day you called and never did again, Within these last years, I have been able to reconcile this event of the heart. The emotions that I had after your rejection have been compartmentalized so I’m okay with you not wanting me to be in your life. I am sure you have your personal reasons for not caring about me and if those reasons help you to live a happier life then it is okay with me. Recently, I visited your page, once I saw your photo a flood of emotions and that familiar ache of sorrow filled my chest. There are so many memories we shared that I hold in mind, made more valuable by knowing there will not be additional memories. What did I say, Ronnie, what did I do? You broke my heart and you think that I don’t deserve to know why? I’m so tired, I am going to say Goodbye, Ronnie.
When my mom was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, she had no reaction. Not once did she speak of her impending death. Not one tear was shed. I understand why because my life is a mirror of her life; no friends, no family, ignored by her children, disabled by mental health issues, and treated as such by the professional community. She was tired, I understand now because I am tired, too.