Mr.Groundhog = No SHADOW

It’s now officially no longer wintry months… it’s now officially past that 2 year mark. 2 years since my mom died. It feels like it’s been a lot longer than 2 years. It feels like it’s been 10 lifetimes. Since she died I’ve had a couple completely bizarre relationships, 2 completely different schools, and 4 completely different houses in completely unique places each time. I feel guilty thinking it’s been longer than 2 years. I feel guilty for not thinking of her all the time. I feel guilty for not crying at every conceivable moment. I feel guilty for not living each second with her in mind. I wish I could say I do, but I often only remember her if something stirs up a memory inside me. It’s not that I forget her, per se, but rather I forget that she’s dead. No one goes around always thinking about what there mom is doing, or where she is; neither do I. It’s only when I do remember that she exists, that I remember… well, that she truly does not. I feel horrible for moving past it so quickly. I’m sure I’m not over it. Who could ever be over it? But I moved on with life, and I’m glad I did, but I’m sad that is was that easy. In reality, it was not easy. I went through not sleeping for 4 months (went to school, got home, napped, went to dinner, made up an excuse not to eat, went to my room, stayed up until my alarm went off at 6am, repeat.), denying she was even dead, dropped to 70 lbs, got over that; progressed to spending an entire summer crying; went through a stage of being so depressed I couldn’t cry; had a weird year of happy moments and absolute breakdowns; to bring me… here. I’m not sure what I am now. No more breakdowns. I cry very rarely, not sure if that is good or bad. I am fairly happy most of the time. I know that I’ve grown a lot in the past 2 years. Not just from the person I was post-tragedy, but the person I was before all that. I was selfish and way too self serving. My needs came before anyone else’s. I wasn’t a horrible person, and essentially, I’m the same person. I just have my priorities set in different places and I’ve matured enough to know that my needs are not the most important thing. The people around me matter more than I do, because they are the ones that I need to keep me strong… I do not want to lose that. I’m not entirely sure if the “new” me is any relation to my mom kicking the bucket, but I’m sure there is some sort of connection.I wonder if my mom could see me now if she would be proud of me. That is what I think about most often. Would she like who I’ve become? Would she shine with pride over the future I am forging for myself? I never dreamed I could get this far before very recently, but I wonder if she always saw it in me. She’d always say she knew I’d succeed. She said it about my brother, too. That she was positive he’d make her proud. Maybe that’s just a mother thing, but she always had so much faith in us. Right after my mom died, I went for a walk to go Christmas shopping/creating havoc in the wee town of Parkville with a bunch of my guy friends really late. We were just walking down the street when I had my first ever thought of “Is my mom watching me right now? What would she think?” and I got really self conscious. That was, in fact, the first time I’d admitted to myself that she was gone. As quickly as the thought entered my head, I pushed it away and thought “Who cares. It’s my life, and if she saw me, why would she even bat an eyelash? She left me, not the other way around.” and I did that for a few more months until I finally broke down. I still remember that line from the horrible and wonderful sisterhood of the travelling pants movie, but it really describes the feeling perfectly.“I just want to feel good, and happy, and alive… cause if I feel alive, it doesn’t seem like she’s dead.And if I‘m not sad, then it proves I‘m not like her.”Is that why I got so reckless? Is that why I screwed up so many things so royally? Why I hurt people purposely? Just so I could… feel?This isn’t making much sense, so I guess I’ll end it here.Ciao chickas and papa citos,<3Mala.