Tag Archives: loss


I got a new job. I had gotten a job two months ago and it isn’t TOO bad (though I did cry in the bathroom today like a loser). 

For the new job, I didn’t seek it. I wasn’t looking for a new job. But rather, they sought me. Someone recommended me and they really wanted me I guess. They offered to pay me $4.25 more per hour than what I earn right now. Considering I’m in student loan hell, I obviously took it. Also, it is a more laid back job. I will be working an office job at a funeral home. 

I think that working at this type of place will be good for me. I have been struggling over the loss of my ex-girlfriend and it has not gotten easier. I cry all the time and now I’ve even started crying in public places, when I see things that remind me of her. 

I think that I will learn to be more sympathetic and empathetic, as I had numbed myself out to those feelings the past year. I will also *need* to learn skills on how to handle grief and loss. I will be able to apply these skills to my own personal life. I’m excited to get paid so much more but I’m also excited about the lessons that will come out of this. I saw my psychiatrist today and told him of this and said that he thought the way I am going about this is profound. And also would be good, as I will be making slideshows and it will show the deceased at their best. It was a nice way to look at it.

I finally feel like I will be taken seriously. I am always being undermined, despite me always being the most qualified at any of the jobs I’ve been at. 

Like I have been noticing with the job I’m at now, I have the most duties out of anyone else. Why? Because I’m so good at so many things. They have me do all the typing, because I am the one that types the fastest. I am bilingual, so I need to translate all the time, which I don’t mind. I recently became a notary, so I’m always pushed to do those since they’re not fun to do. I also have to do them in Spanish and it is more difficult, as Spanish is my second language. 

I do most of the cleaning. I multi task the most. Today, I was multi tasking so fucking much. My boss had he audacity to shove a huge, lengthy project on me. All the while, my other two workers took on easier “projects” AKA cutting paper. And still, I had to do my own project while ALSO attending to all the customers. Their excuse was that they were busy with their project. Like no fucking shit, I am too. So annoying. 

I went to the bathroom later in the day and just fucking broke down like a loser. I feel like I am being walked all over and being taken advantage of. I don’t want to say anything, as I only have a week left here. But it is certainly frustrating. Even so, I know that things would stay the same even if I hadn’t left. This would still be happening and I would still not feel comfortable speaking up.

I have trouble standing up for myself. 

I cried in the bathroom because I hate those feelings. They are feelings that I feel frequently. I feel like I let people walk all over me all the time. It makes me feel like shit. And so this situation reminds me very much of my own personal instances.

Am I being stupid? It should be flattering that I’m being put to do so many things because I’m good at them. But it isn’t fair and it’s stressing me out. 

Anyways. I’m so fucking excited that I don’t have to deal with this bullshit anymore. I clearly didn’t say I found a way better job, but rather, I gave a dumb excuse so as to not burn bridges. So yeah! That’s what’s going on with me right now. I’m definitely very emotional


never enough pt. II 

For my parents, it’s never, “how are you doing? How is your depression? Are you doing ok? Have you been having suicidal thoughts? Are you going out? Are you isolating? How are you eating? How have you been doing with the loss of Molly?”

They know I struggle with all of those. Those are all a deeply ingrained part of my depression.

Instead, it is “how was school? How are your grades? How was your last test? Are you trying? Why is this a B and not an A?”

My parents support me in many ways. They provide food and shelter, they pay for my bills. But they both do not provide me with any emotional support. It feels like they don’t care. That isn’t something important.

To them, if I’m faltering in school it is never because I’m depressed. That’s not a good enough reason for them. To them, if I’m faltering means that I’m being lazy, not trying, and that I don’t care.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. My grades have improved so much. I have literally been either failing or barely passing my classes for the past two years. I’ve been in such a deep depression these past two years that even sometimes, it feels like it is too much and it feels like suicide is a rational answer. Still, I push through and try my best to communicate my needs to the people around me. 

I do tell my parents how I’m doing. I do tell them how I’m feeling or if I’m having suicidal thoughts. In the moment, they care. They tell me I can talk to them about anything and that they’re there for me. But it feels like in reality, it goes in through one ear and out the other. They don’t actually show me that they care. 

I just showed my mom my grades because she is paying for my classes. I have a high B in biology and a C in anatomy. But, if you see for anatomy, my first test happened the week of Molly’s death. My test scores have been going up.

But she doesn’t see that. She doesn’t care. And so she isn’t paying for my classes. My last payment installment is nearly $400 and I don’t have that kind of money. I don’t know what I’ll do. I feel really sad and I feel like such a failure.

Molly: Anger and Denial


The two stages I’m going in and out of are denial and anger.

I keep thinking to myself that Molly is in rehab still and that’s why we can’t talk. It isn’t because she’s dead. It is because phones aren’t allowed in rehab and that’s why. I know I’m lying to myself. But it is easier to think about it this way.

I keep thinking that I can text her or post to her Facebook wall, and that she’ll read it at a later time.

I have sudden realizations that Molly will never come back and it hits me hard.

Anger is a reoccurring emotion. I have anger towards the people she knew. I feel angry because when she passed away, naturally, people were offering their condolences on her Facebook wall.. but they kept misgendering her and using her dead name. They would post pictures of themselves with her, before she had started transitioning. She would not have liked that. She removed all photos from before she transitioned because she didn’t want anyone remembering her as a boy. The dysphoria she experienced was one of the reasons that she abused drugs. I know that if she were still here, she’d try to brush those images off as good memories. But I know that they hurt her.

I am also angry at the people that knew her. I went to a memorial for her a week ago and there were so many people there, acting as if they knew her really well. There were even people that she hated and that they hated her…pretending they were friends. Talking to other people as if they and Molly had good memories together.

her brother had posted on Instagram that he had traveled to the west coast with his family to release Molly’s ashes into the ocean. He also said that he was happy to have met some of the family she made over here. Who was the family? Her old bandmates and housemates. They did not treat her well. They ignored her, trivialized her addiction, and were not there for her. I would be taking her to the hospital, pleading them for someone to come help. None of them did. One of them even said it wasn’t a big deal. And now she is gone, and THEY are being called family????

I am also angry because I’ve been pushed out of the picture and I’m being imagined as being this huge bitch that left Molly in her time of need. And I can understand how you can see it that way… since I left her two months before she died. But I was the ONLY one constantly in her life. Taking care of her and being there for her. Ever since the beginning. I was the one that stayed up with her late at night trying to calm her down. I was the one waking up in the early morning hours, driving for hours to go see her, and then repeating the whole process again. I was the one begging and pleading her to get better. I was the one offering support. I was a constant force in her life. I was the one that knew her the best out of anyone else in the world. She even said once that I knew her better than her mom did.

And so, it really hurts that I’m being portrayed as this sort of demon for leaving her. It doesn’t matter that I was the only one that was constantly there for her. It doesn’t matter that I was the one staying up all night taking care of her. It doesn’t matter that I was the one driving her to doctor visits and to the hospital. No. All that matters is that even though I was there for her for two years, non-stop, it only matters that I wasn’t there for her those last two months.

I left her because I cared about her so much, I was wearing myself down. I wasn’t taking care of myself. I was putting all of my own energy, into her, hoping that she would get better. She never did, and to me, it felt like she wasn’t trying as hard as she could. That is why I left her.

I feel bad because I knew that she was hurting. I knew that she missed me. I blocked her on every single thing so that she wouldn’t be able to contact me. But I was still so very much in love with her. I would check her twitter and tumblr every day, several times a day, just to see if she would say anything about me. She did. At that moment, I felt very angry. Because she was missing me but she still wasn’t trying to get better.

She tried to get my new number two days before she passed away. I hadn’t given my number to any of her friends, and so no one knew it. I blame myself for having not given it to her. I know she needed support. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she had gotten my number anyway. The outcome would have been the same. I had blocked her from my phone as well. The texts and calls would have never reached me.

I blame myself for thinking I could be there for her. But deep down, I know that I would have been pulled back in and would have dug a deeper hole for myself. I know that I would have destroyed myself for her if I hadn’t left.

But knowing that doesn’t help with the anger, and the bitterness, and the sadness. It doesn’t help the guilt. It doesn’t help with the “why are all of her friends moving on with their lives while I’m still so fucking depressed and sad?”

I think that if her friends had been better friends and had been there for her, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out the way it did. I know it’s pointless to think that way. It is what it is. And there is nothing I can do to change that. But I still just wish everyone had cared just a little bit harder. Or at least pretended that they cared about her like they pretended at her memorial.

I never thought it to be true and I thought it was an exaggeration when they say in movies and in books that everyone pretends to have known you really well after your death. But I experienced it first-hand for Molly. And now I’m left wondering, out of the people I know, who will do this fact same thing? Act like they’re so torn up about my death? Act as if we were best friends and they helped me out with so much? As if we had such good memories together?

I’m angry and I am bitter. These feelings are hard to disperse. I miss her so very much. This isn’t fair.


Update: my ex girlfriend died

I was told yesterday that my ex girlfriend died of an overdose. I feel very numb and I’m confused about my feelings. I’m so incredibly sad but I feel like I’m numb because I am finding it so hard to believe. I want so badly for this to not be real and I wish I could just go on believing that everything is ok and that she’s ok.

But she’s gone. And I’m so sad because I know she didn’t mean to die. She didn’t want to die. She had just become an aunt and she had just begun therapy. Everything was coming up for her. But her fucking addiction was in control of her life. I know she didn’t want to die. She used because she wanted to get out of her feelings and not deal with them for just a little while.

I hadn’t talked to her in months. We had gotten in a fight and I had decided to cut her out of my life because I wanted to move on. Our relationship had become volatile and it was something that, at that moment, couldn’t go any further. But we always said we were soul mates and that in the future, if she got better, we would maybe try again. The last thing she said to me was that she was sorry for all the mean things she had said to me last time we talked. I never responded.

She never got better. She only got worse. And now she’s dead. And I feel so fucking bad and guilty that I hadn’t been talking to her. 

She helped me through so much. And I feel so fucking bad that I couldn’t help her with her addiction. 

I can’t believe she’s gone. I’m finding it really hard to accept this.