The Facade of Safety
Moving to Colorado, one of the most forward-thinking states, I started to build a life that was separate from that culture.
A renewed sense of possibility filled my heart.
I finally began to release this fear that was taught to me at a young age.
Ignoring this instinctive reaction, I would consistently push boundaries meeting and listening to new people.
Exploring a world without their fogged ideals.
Yet, I couldn’t escape the weight of the past.
Every second my mind was still stuck in this life-or-death mindset.
Always feeling like something was waiting around the corner to collapse this foundation I’ve been building for myself.
Instead of predicting the next winning lottery numbers, I predicted something that would absolutely shatter me.
After receiving the news, my mother and I drove 1,500 miles back home overnight.
Through the drive, memories of what we were coming back to resurfaced.
There was one memory in particular I couldn’t look away from.
It was like I hit a rewind button to the past.
I was in the car with my nanna again. Just a few years after my father passed away, due to alcohol’s inability to erase his troubles.
Swiftly, we arrived at my uncle’s house.
As the car pulled in the driveway, she turned to me and hushed me. Telling me not to retell this moment to anyone.
That happened a lot.
As he stumbled down the splintered wooden steps, I saw it again.
Just like my father, he was in pain; not knowing how to cope he continued to fall into addiction.
I was confused seeing what she did next. Prior to this I remembered my uncle being caught and reprimanded for stealing my great-grandma’s pain medication.
Why was she giving it to him freely now?
This transaction is perfect example of toxicity that plagues my family.
Continuously driven by these outdated and unspoken forms of emotional suppression.
Enabling harmful behavior while disguising it as support.
Unfortunately, what caused this spontaneous drive, is the result of moments like this.
April 25, 1988 — May 13, 2023
The numbers brought me back to reality.
When pulling up to the wake, I saw my grandma cowered behind a tree.
I immediately ran to comfort her, knowing she was grieving the loss of her second son.