Why is it that people opt to listen to depressing music when they’re sad or heartbroken? Is it because we like knowing that someone is going through what we’re going through or because we like having a ing excuse to be sad? As if being happy is so freaking overrated and being sad garners more concern, love, and attention. 

Why didn’t I put some Beach Boy summer tunes instead of listening to the broken voice sing about their unfortunate break-up?

Well, in my case, it was my guilt that assisted the choice.  

I went out with Irene, something I had been avoiding for a few days now, and I had fun. That was it. That is what has me like this.

I didn’t intend to have fun today. Irene was the one who scolded me about not having anything in my fridge and dragged me out. It wasn’t exactly a day of pedicures or shopping like the olden days, but for the first time in days I enjoyed my outing, to the supermarket of all places. I rode on the cart out of habit and laughed when Irene pretended to be throwing hoops into the cart.  

I had fun.  

And then I felt ty about it. 

After helping me put away my things, Irene left, probably proud she had gotten a couple of laughs from me, and I caught myself sighing a sigh of content. A sigh of, gee today was a good day.

Then I thought: You’re out there having fun while your brother and father are dead.  

If that wasn’t enough, I started getting mad because, in all honesty, it’s not my fault they were dead. 

I wasn't the damn cancer that lived inside my little brother’s body.

I’m not the one who chose work that day instead of my own children. 

I wasn’t the one who sped through the streets and got into a car accident after hearing that my brother was taking his last breaths. 

Their deaths weren’t my fault and I know that it wasn’t theirs either. I may be angry that my father wasn’t there, but I know it wasn’t his fault. They were just ty incidents that happen in life and they happened to us. 

But while my logic was stable, the pathos side wasn’t.  

I should be thankful, though. My mental state could be a lot worse. 

I could still be sitting in my brother’s closet holding his belongings in my arms and rocking back and forth praying under my breath to the universe or God or whoever had the spiritual shift that night, to take me instead. I could have also opened my apartment window and jumped out, cruising in the air before smacking onto the concrete or I could’ve dropped my hairdryer into the full bath while I was in it.

People still kill themselves that way, don’t they? 

Huh. Look at me. Making a joke about suicide. What a piece of I’ve become.

The point is, I don’t think I’m at the suicidal state and I know this is all part of my pain of losing them, but I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to get better. 

I’m stubborn enough to think I can get through this alone. I’ve always handled my emotional baggage pretty well. But what if I actually need professional help this time? I’m not the type of person who gets offended when they’re told they should see a psychologist or therapist, but I don’t want to.  

Why? I don't know. Maybe deep down I know that I don’t deserve to feel better because part of me, despite everyone telling me otherwise, feels responsible. I yelled at my father that night, telling him that he should've already been here. That he was leaving me alone to deal with everything again. Why did I have to go through everything alone? Why wasn’t he ever there when I needed him?  

He rushed because of my words. He deserved to hear them, but did they kill him? Did I kill him? 

No.

I didn’t.

Stop.

It wasn’t your fault.

It was...

Stop.

I splashed my face with cold water, gasping slightly at its icy touch. I grimaced at my face, the face I had never really had a problem with until now. Dark circles were always the look I wore, especially if I was on tour, but I appreciated them. I was working and living my dream, but now they were signs of my uselessness.

I splashed my face once again, but this time, I didn't look in the mirror. 

“I need to dance” 

♪ 

Before there was singing and composing, there was dance. How did I go so long without dancing? 

I let myself fall onto the smooth wooden floor and stretched out my legs in