Memories – I miss you

I guess I’ve been in an introspective period in my life. No, that’s not true. When you’ve gone through so much shit in your life, you can go down 2 different roads. You can either suppress the memories or you can cling to the them and try to never forget.

I suppose I’ve always been the introspective type – always lost in memories, lost in ideas and lost in fantasies of the what ifs and the shoulda, coulda, and wouldas. As I get older, I tally the people I’ve lost literally and metaphorically in hopes of never forgetting, because I’d never want others to forget me.

Sometimes when I’m driving I think of Ryan. I can’t tack it to muscle memory since we have never spent time in Arkansas together, but oddly enough his mom did. I’ve remember him telling me stories of him and his cousin and a trip they made here once.

Yesterday, I remembered he had a son. I forgot about him and his name. I want to say Colton, but I honestly am not sure. I hate that I forgot about him all together and can’t even remember his name. I don’t even know how old he is now. I remember going to one of his soccer games once and taking pictures of them together on the couch, but I lost them.

I remember waiting at Hastings one day for him, and buying him the Marshall Mather’s LP, because he always sang “I Still Don’t Give A Fuck”.  I remember he was obsessed with Hitler, and the Military Channel, and he would watch it in his living room, and I’d watch the Cooking Channel in his bed room. He hated that WWII got more attention than WWI since more died. I remember he loved cereal, and how his grandmother used to buy him boxes and boxes, and his favorite was Cookie Crisp.

I remember when he had his first seizure in his sleep while I was staying over, and he hadn’t told me, and I had freaked out. I remember our last outing to Dion’s.  Every time I see a preview of “Mike and Molly” I remember how him and his grandmother hated it because they hated “fat people”. I remember Ryan saying I reminded him of Sheldon from “The Big Bang Theory”. I remember him and my friend Tim saying they were going to get in a fist fight, and we walked from my apartment to a park and they changed their minds midway and we turned around. That was a funny one.

I remember he loved hunting turkeys, and he explained to me the benefits of controlled hunting. I remember him when I hear “One” by Metallica, “Sail” by Awol Nation and “Someone I Used to Know” by Goyte.

I remember when we first met, I remember a lot of not so flattering things as well, and I remember his funeral, and I miss him.

I think of Ryan every time I remember someone I cared for that has died, and when I think of him I remember my friend Aaron who also passed. He loved me, but in a different way than I felt. He died while I was in jail, and I couldn’t believe I was rotting in a jail cell while he took his last breath. I went to his house to say I had just been released only to discover of his passing. He was good people and a great friend.

I dread the day of when I will wake up and someone else I love will be gone like my parents, family, friends and pets because moments and memories are fleeting, and the call from death is random. I realize my worries are premature, but it makes every memory something I want to remember forever.

Never forget

Ryan walked into one of the lowest times of my life. I still felt sorry for myself because of my accident, and I had just began to reclaim my independence from my overdose by moving into my first apartment with best friend, and I was finally going back to school.

At this point, I was finally using a cane and Ryan took an interest. I found out later on it was because he too had had a near death experience and had learned to walk again.

The difference between Ryan and my survival stories were only limited to the fact that he remained in the hospital longer, he recovered faster and his story was overall more inspiring.

Our last days together. I should of known what was going to happen, but I was so self involved I couldn’t see past myself. He was deteriorating in front of my eyes, and I had the audacity to tell him I thought he was faking. He was constantly hooked up to his grandmother’s oxygen mask, his skin hung over his bones and his color grew grey.

He told me, “I’m dying,” and how he figured out why his Morphine and Oxycontin pills weren’t working because his Doctor had changed him to time release and he was taking too much. I still chalked it up to him being dramatic. Ryan wasn’t even a dramatic person. He was surprisingly nonchalant about most matters. How I could I be so clouded about what was I witnessing? He was overdosing slowly.

On leap day 2012, Ryan had a Doctors appointment. I saw him every single day! Out of respect, I hadn’t tried to make contact until around 4 o’clock to see how his appointment went. Ryan past away around 4:30 that day, without seeing his Doctor. He was going to be 25 in less than a week, too young to go.

Most of my grief and tears were aimed towards the fact that I should of been there. I should have did something. I should have helped him. I should have took him to the doctor. I should of called him until he answered. I should have known! I don’t think I will ever forgive myself for not being there the one day I wasn’t! For thinking he was ‘making it up’! How could I let him die when he was responsible for teaching me the most important lessons about loving life in a time when it felt so fucking hopeless?

He used to hide my cane to teach me that I didn’t need it anymore, even when we were broke as hell he would still give panhandlers money because he said, “it comes back.”

In honor of Ryan, I ALWAYS give money to people who are brave enough to ask for it, especially when I can’t afford it. He changed my life more than I would have ever guessed, and I am so lucky to have known him.

Ryan and I.

 

Our song:

 

The song I played on repeat the day before he died, that he he was super irritated about:

Michael <3

I have said before, I’m really close with my family. Growing up, as my family would all confess, I could not be tamed. I went off doing my own thing at an alarmingly early age, doing what I wanted, regardless of who I hurt; it pained me to see all of them  all go through my stages, but I felt it was just something I had to do. I still believe that, too.

My Father, Mother, my sister, Sylvia, and my brother, John, were always there for me. Through good and bad. A bonafide loving family. Just how I feel every family should be. When I was 20 years old, my crazy lifestyle caught up to me, and I put myself in a coma for over a month. I was supposed to die that day, and I will always wonder why I hadn’t. Some things are just better left a mystery, I suppose.

My brother, David Michael, died when I was a mere 13 months old. He was also 20 years old. I obviously never knew him, but I really wish I had. Everyone says he was great at everything and even though he was a “dick” he loved me very much. He took care of me when no one else could or would.  I wish I could feel that first hand.

I still cry for the pain his death caused. I hope I never loose my child, and I dread the days I’m supposed to outlive my siblings. When I was in my coma, John told Sylvia, “looks like it’s just us two again.”  They had planned my funeral, like they planned his, and we would of died from basically the same thing at the same age. Except, I didn’t die, and he did.

They say you can’t miss what you never had, but I don’t believe that. I miss him, and sometimes I swear I can feel his love.

R.I,P. dear brother, gone but never forgotten

David Michael Reza

March 5, 1970-October 17,1990

[relevant, witty title]

The other day, out of boredom, I spent about literally 2-3 hours taking pointless BuzzFeed quizzes. They are a fun way to get through the day, just pass time. I came across “Who’s your TV boyfriend?” Of course, I got Jesse from Breaking Bad. (Breaking Bad is in Albuquerque.) I read the above results and couldn’t’ believe how right it was. :Sigh:

I have a nasty habit of only being attracted to the absolute worst men. I did a private tally recently, and discovered I have never dated a guy who has not been to jail and/or prison. Not to say I’m an angel, but I still would NOT consider myself a “bad girl”, I’ve just done questionable things. You can literally look  up ALL my ex’s on here. I mean, it makes me wonder if I’ll ever mature and find a good guy I deem interesting or exciting enough to share a life with.

I’ve been in love twice, or what I believe to be love. Ryan passed away in March 2012  from a prescription drug overdose, he was a great liar, and our relationship was turbulent. Mostly because of me, and I carry that regret too. We dated for two years in between my on-again-off again relationship with Shane. This lasted 7 years, which he spent 2 incarcerated. He ended up getting a girl pregnant the summer before I moved to Arkansas. I still love him and miss him and I wil never understand why I can still care when he hurt me. Is that love? Or is that repeating mistakes? Both?

Pfft, whatever though, for real.

Love, peace, chicken grease