Ocean full of Secrets

Part I_5

10th of February 2014

The day my mother died not a single tear crossed the threshold of my eyes. They didn't even make an effort. It was as if they didn't care at all.

It was Neil who found her lying on the bedroom floor, her arm outstretched as she was trying to reach the door. At least that's how the police interpreted it. Apparently she ODed on her sleeping pills and anti-depressants, however the police excluded the possibility of suicide almost immediately.

"Must've really wanted to sleep, that one"

I once heard an officer say to Neil. I don't think I have to explain he wasn't one of the most sensitive ones. However, he couldn't have known that my mother used to joke about Neil's snoring being the main reason for her insomnia in the first place. Poor Neil. He must've felt incredibly guilty. I know that I should've been there for him more during that time. We could've supported each other, but as always I was too caught up in my own misery, there was not much room for others. I was too preoccupied with my own problems and the guilt for not being able to cry, I didn't even have time to miss her.

I was sad, of course I was, but somehow it didn't feel enough. She deserved more. She deserved tears and drama, screams and mad pillow hitting, silent sobbing and constant hugging. And I let her down. I was a terrible daughter, always have been. Of course she was far from being a perfect mother as well, but I didn't exactly make the job easier.
She would've deserved what Oliver gave her. He was everything you could hope for in a son. After her death he was a complete mess. Though he never cried in public, his eyes were always red and swollen on the rare occasions that he would leave his room. And often could I hear him execute before-mentioned pillow hitting in his room, accompanied by frequent screams and crying, whenever he thought no one was around to hear it. But at least he could express his feelings somehow. Unlike me who couldn't even define them.

Was I sad? I guess so. Was I angry? Yes, definitely. But with whom? With her, for just leaving us? With me, for not being more sad? With Neil, for being this helpless, miserable mess of tears, instead of doing his best to keep the remains of our family together, before we completely fall apart beyond repair? No.

The last one was certainly not the case. The truth is, I was never angry with Neil. Neither did I pity him or feel any real emotion towards him. All I felt was cold indifference. I know this makes me seem like a horrible person and I am, but it's the truth and I figured if there is on place where you can say the absolute truth no matter how cruel it is, it's a diary. Otherwise, of what use would this be?
I hated myself for it every single day and I still do, but I can't bring myself to love him. Maybe the reason is that he's not my real father, though he is the closest thing to one I have ever had and almost can't remember a time when he wasn't around, or maybe it's simply my cold-heartedness. I don't know. I tried it anew every day and failed anew every day.

The more I think about it the more I realize it wasn't that different with mum. I did care for her, but did I love her? I'm not so sure anymore. What is love anyways? I don't quite understand the concept of it. Equally I don't understand the concept of family. Like why do you have to tell about how your day was every time you get home and then even ask the other person about theirs in return, even though neither of you really cares. Why is it the norm to eat at least one meal a day together when it only ever leads to arguments, because at no point on any day have all four of us been at home in time for dinner. Why should you, just because you coincidentally have the same ancestors, therefore be obligated to share private information about your life with these people even though you have no desire at all to hear their opinion. Just because they're family. There you have it. I'm the source of all unhappiness in our house. I'm the one responsible for all my complicated and weird or ruined relationships. I'm poison.