My brothers girlfriend took her own life.

But everyone keeps on living.

She was never a person I would’ve assumed would take her own life. But how often do we see it coming? Someone is miserable but an expert at hiding it. Or we aren’t listening hard enough.

It made me think. How many happy women do I know? And I can’t name one.

I can’t.

I feel like Betty Draper in Mad Men. At least the first seasons. I have everything but still nothing. I should be happy but I’m not.

My sister is drowning in an angry relationship that is causing her to be extremely overweight and extremely snappy at people.

My mother is drinking too much to drown whatever daemons are plaguing her. She loves her husband but she’s torn between the different countries he lives in and never has time to just sit down and relax.

My friends are getting divorced, or becoming a family wife, resentfully taking care of everything, or unable to find their path. One is extremely unhappy with their work but unsatisfied with going back to school to finish her degree.

I don’t know happy women. But I though she was happy. Even if she wasn’t extremely happy, she was strong, beautiful and so smart. I never saw it coming. And I can read people. Obviously I saw she was sad but I underestimated how sad and now I feel so phony. I thought I was a good friend, and I just got it proven that I’m not. I can’t be there for those who I hold close. I can’t even be there for myself.

Forgiveness. Life would be easier if we only forgave ourselves.

Until a few years ago, the hardest thing I had to forgive myself was making stupid decisions about men. That was it. Forgive me for not going after the ones I wanted and forgive me for letting those I could care less about take advantage over me.

Forgiveness was easy back then.

The year my dad got sick was a busy year in my life. I have to forgive myself for not spending more time with my father. For letting him go through so much alone when I always wanted to be there for him but just couldn’t bare to see him fade away. I have forgive myself for all the harsh thoughts I had. Believing that if only he wanted to live, he could fight the cancer. The cancer that only took 3 months to end his life.

I have to forgive myself for letting myself get completely drawn into the world of alcohol after he passed. Forgive myself for blurring out the remainder of that year, for gaining 80 pounds over a span of 6 months and for wallowing. I have to let myself understand that it was OK to get depressed.

It’s hard to forgive oneself. It’s even harder to think someone who has passed would forgive you.

In the long run, I have to forgive myself for never taking care of my body. For letting it balloon up. Sometimes I give myself such a hard time for it, but in the end I just have to forgive myself.

Read all I’ve got to write about here.

Work was killing me. I could literally feel it draining all the life out of me. Standing there smiling at all the costumers, who were acting like idiots, all the while the boss was fucking me up by not being any support, or at all reachable.

I could take it when I was only working weekends. Sure I was tired working every weekend and then going to school on weekdays but the exhaustion never kept me from being polite to customers while taking their shit, and it never really made me resent my boss. It all grew gradually from June until just the other day, when I quit.

I just can’t take it any more, feeling like I get screwed from all sides. So I quit to get some summer vacation instead, and it’s like the heaviest weight was lifted from my shoulders, the biggest sigh could escape my mouth and I could finally sleep at nights.

I’m free and I feel like I escaped a horrible punishment. It’s glorious not to be back there working my ass off for someone who never sees or acknowledges it. Working like a maniac for people who never appreciate it. Busting my ass off only to get bitched at. I don’t need it and I left it behind. Freedom!