(no subject)

[duinemerwen]

 My mum told me that "Crying doesn't solve anything. So stop crying." My parents were great, but I've only two memories of being comforted when I cried. One was when I was overwhelmed with studying for music history, and I was told I could drop out of the course if I really wanted to. The second was when I was a grown ass adult who had just failed her highway test. All the other instances of crying at home - couldn't solve for X in algebra, mad crush on unattainable person, physics too hard - I mostly put it in my pillow. 

Nowadays it occurs to me, what is the "correct" way to deal with crying as a parent? Would I still feel uncomfortable opening up to those who are supposed to be my family, choosing to blog and occasionally interject on r/suicidewatch instead? Would an approach other than stoicism encouraged my brother to open up rather than jump off a tall building? Would I have gone home after learning that fact instead of being unable to face them until the funeral?

I don't blame my family for that, of course. I mostly blame myself. I was a bully to him when I was a teenager. It's pretty telling that he mentioned our parents, his friends, but didn't mention me in his suicide note at all. I could've been there for him, but I wasn't. 

Most of the time, I try not to think about it. It's frightening how effective it is. I'm afraid I'll forget all the little things about him, and that I'll turn into a hoarder trying to keep the things that link to memories I'd have forgotten otherwise. I'm so afraid of forgetting, that every year I've already forgotten something else but don't know what it is, until there's nothing left except regret. There's a box I keep in the closet with his ashes and some plushies to keep it company. It's been four years, but I can't bear to look in it.