wake me up before you go

ive been keeping this thing inside me. this thing i refuse to talk about but have to. i cant seem to get it out. and yet i know how much its troubling me. its probably the reason im finding it difficult to sleep at night. probably the reason it takes me ages to get out of bed.

my mums helper has gone. she left this afternoon. i got a text saying something along the lines of “love you, miss you kiss you” in broken english.

and not only was she a lifeline to my mum, but a lifeline for me. she was my helper too. she looked after me when i wept. she held my hand when i needed courage. she listened. she understood. she knew.

she knew me.

she had told me about her shady history. her life after her mother passed away. how she would while away time looking for things she could destroy. how she had wished she could die. only at the age of 9.

she knew what my depression was. she knew what i felt. the youngest in her family. she knew that feeling of being alone. and now shes gone. packed her bags and left.

its all my fault.

she had decided a couple of months ago it was time to go home permanently. not because her kids were growing fast. but because my family were pulling her apart. no one looked after her when there was a fight. they would simply go to her to have her look after them, and further more use her amidst their own arguments. she was being pulled in all directions.

that used to be me.

but i stopped going home.

so they used her instead.

diplomatic. calm. ever watching from the sidelines.

only shes got a different surname. shes entitled to leave on her own terms. she has a happy family and a cat.

spending time with her made me realise more and more that i wanted to be a doctor. she would ask me complex and yet trivial childlike questions about medical stuff and i would have to explain it to her. “how does cancer happen?” “why do we only take one pill a day?”

all stuff that i wanted to answer. that i knew i could answer. and in another language. this was me. this is what i was capable of. she calls me her doctor. she comes to me with all her medical problems. and i explain them to her and tell her the importance of her telling her doctor. i was the reason she stayed vaguely healthy.

i could sense when she was down. i would look after her. i could be strong for her. because she didnt use me for it. she didnt take my strength and leave me hollow. my family did that to me. they did that to her. and now shes gone. and now im scared.

she really looked after me. and would enjoy looking after me. it was like she was the one person that relished spending time with me. when i would ask her if she loved me she would respond saying “too much kartihu” (i do, too much).

im really scared.

ST is on the phone coaxing me to talk to him. the first thing he said was “im sorry bubby, i wanted to meet her, i had no idea”.

i dont want to talk about it much. its just making me hurt and cry. and i knew it would once i opened up. and i wasnt in the mood. but i was feeling tetchy and aggravated and closed.

the first thing he said was “dont worry my bubby, it’ll be ok, im here for you. im there with you”.

but im scared. he is all i have left. he is the reason im still here. but im so scared of losing him. im so scared that when i feel down he wont understand what to do or what to say and will flip out at me and run a mile. just like everyone else.

i know he wont. he says he wont. he hasnt already. but im still scared.

what is it with me not wanting to burden anybody?

it never felt like i was burdening my mums helper. until my mum got jealous and told me i was. but she reprimanded me. she told me that everyone else goes to her with their problems, of all people, i should be the first that has the right to go to her with my problems. she wanted me to talk to her. she knew. she knew what it felt like otherwise.

but i dont know how far i can push him. and i dont want to push him. i dont want to end up “pushing” him.

when i wanted to go home, i would call her to check if my sister would be home. she would tell me and i would make plans accordingly.

i cant do that any more. i dont know when i can go home safely. i dont know when i will be able to sleep a night in my bed again.

my mother is too vague. she knows nothing. and tells me nothing. she wants to see us fight. she wants to see me cry. she wants to see me broken down. everyone does.

my father is schizophrenic about it. the doctor in him recognises the depression. the father denies it. the doctor wants to help me, the doctor wants me to be happy. but so does the father. and the father uses the doctor to justify the reasons for why i had depression. it wasnt family related. it was because of the pill.

i havent taken the pill for 6 months. im still unhappy.

sure to say i dont have depression. but im still working on making myself stronger.

with ST..im still searching for something. im not sure what, i think it may be some act of heroism that will save me from myself. something that makes me never doubt or question him. he knows. he just never says anything. im still looking for something from him, and im not sure what. he doesnt lack in anything. at all. im still searching for safety. and i dont feel safe. i do feel safe, but its not consistent. theres nothing making it rigid. it waxes and wanes. either because he isnt consistent. maybe because we’re still getting to know each other.

hes started this thing recently, which is really helping me. every morning, he texts me saying “i love you”. ive begun expecting it. and it makes me feel calm. it makes me feel settled. it puts a smile on my face. its the consistency ive been craving.

i hope it lasts.

my mums helper. she was always a consistency. she always said my name the same way. she always had a big smile. always something to say to make me laugh. she never swayed away from me. she never got mad at me. i had a small fight with her one time. because my sister begun to do that thing. that thing where she tries to take people away from me. she did it with AM. she almost tried with MN. she took away my brother’s wife. she took my mot

her. shes tried with my dad, and no doubt my mums helper.

sadly or maybe fortunately, my dad is a political man. and he played her game. or rather understood it. more than i realised. she broke his trust as her father. and didnt win the game.

my mums helper is a real sister. maybe the sister i never had. the one that urged me to do better, and i would encourage her the same. the one i could always go to for advice and who could always come to me for help. the one i could talk to about boys, and who would tell me the right things to say and do. i would give her all my favourite old clothes (the ones i couldnt bear to part with) before my mother could think about giving them to charity. she was happy for me, ecstatic when i told her about ST. the only one from home that was. she sends me pictures of my children. i send her emails of just a picture of a heart. thats all thats necessary. she would make me understand calmly when i was wrong. we would joke around when she was.

she told me i smelled of jasmines. and that i was beautiful. and that she loved me too much.

but now shes gone.