Dear Readers,
Today began with a heaviness I couldn’t quite shake. I woke up anxious — heart racing, body tense, thoughts scattered like loose papers in the wind. The closer it gets to Thanksgiving, the more my anxiety builds. I can feel it in my bones, in the ache of my shoulder and neck, in the way my chest tightens before the day even begins.
I woke at 7 a.m. in a cold sweat, panic clinging to me before I even opened my eyes. My brother, oddly enough, was already up too — in the shower before the sun had fully settled in. Maybe we both felt something in the air this morning, some unspoken weight. I crawled back into bed and managed another hour of restless sleep before starting the day for real.
The morning passed quietly with meetings, emails, and work — just routine things that helped me stay grounded. But beneath it all, that nervous hum stayed steady. When I finally got ready to leave for the day, it was time to head to my Papa’s — my grandpa’s — for a visit.
Getting my brother out of the house, though, was a battle of its own. It took nearly forty minutes, full of coaxing, bribing, and patience I barely had left. I promised him Dutch Bros, good music, and that he could nap in the car. It shouldn’t take this much effort, but it always does. My dad even had to help. It’s moments like this that make me feel like I’m carrying the weight of being both sister and parent — a role I never really wanted but somehow ended up with.
When my parents split, they both quietly decided they were done being parents. That left my brother and me to fend for ourselves. I became the caretaker, the voice of reason, the one who had to hold everything together. There’s love there, of course — he’s my brother — but there’s resentment too, on both sides. I’m tired. I want to live my life now, but my family still expects me to keep managing his. They tell me that because he’s a boy, he’ll be more successful, more capable, and they never hesitate to remind me of my supposed shortcomings.
Even now, with my new job waiting for me, they diminish my success — saying it’s my “first real job,” and that I didn’t earn it on my own. But I did. I worked for it, I fought for it, and I got here through my own perseverance. I’ve learned that I can’t control what they think or how they see me — only how I respond. It’s my story, not theirs.
The drive to Papa’s is always long — about two hours each way, nearly 200 miles round trip. It’s a full-day event, so my Dutch Bros ritual has become my little joy along the way. Today I treated myself to two drinks — my regular, the Majestic Forest Red-Blue blended with a splash of watermelon, and one of their new holiday specials, a Pumpkin Chai Freeze. Both were perfect.
When we got there, Papa was in good spirits. We worked together on a LEGO set I bought him for his birthday — only made it to bag 10 out of 20, so we have another session waiting for us soon. It was sweet and simple, but also a little heartbreaking. He’s getting older. He repeats himself more now, forgetting he’s already asked a question. It made me tear up quietly on the drive home.
Of course, nothing with my family stays peaceful for long. On the way back, my mom called, and we argued again — this time about Thanksgiving. I tried explaining that the anniversary of my traumatic event is coming up and that it’s making me feel uneasy. Her response cut deep:
“Why let it bother you? It was a year ago.”
I gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white. She doesn’t understand. Logically, yes — it’s been a year. But emotionally, it’s still raw. The case is still open. The memories still visit me at night. I even tried explaining how the night terrors have been worsening, how I feel trapped in my own body some nights. She brushed it off, and I had to end the call before I broke completely.
By the time I got home, I felt drained. My brother helped me put Icy Hot on my shoulder and noticed there’s now a large bump near my upper back. Tomorrow, I’m going to the doctor to get it checked out — finally. Between the pain, the nightmares, and the stress, I need some sort of relief.
On a brighter note, I found out I’ll be starting my new job on November 24th. It’s official! My new boss told me they decided to move forward after struggling to reach my district manager (who’s been avoiding their calls). It nearly cost me the position, but thanks to two glowing references — one professional, one personal — I got the green light. It’s a huge relief.
I wish I could end my day there, on that good note, but emotionally I’m still tired. Bisa has been in a mood lately — short, distant, and quiet. He’s been ignoring me most of the day, and I don’t know what I did wrong. It hurts, especially after everything. So I did what I usually do when the world feels too loud: I colored, watched The Sandman, and tried to let my mind drift.
Eventually, Woe messaged me asking to hop on a call, so now I’m sitting here watching her history show, trying to breathe through it all — the noise, the ache, the silence, the weight of it all.
Today wasn’t an easy day. But I guess not every day has to be. Sometimes it’s enough just to keep showing up — one deep breath, one long drive, one colored page at a time.
With love,
Monique
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