Dear Rita,

I don’t believe I’ve ever written those words since she’s passed. Hell, I may have never written those words while she was alive… Oh, Rita…

The last few months have felt like I’ve been in Alice in Wonderland. I took my prozac and I entered a weird world where life seems to take a mind of its own. I don’t remember things as well, I feel like I’m floating through life sometimes. I feel like I have less control over my actions, but perhaps that’s not inherently bad. I also feel happier, more appreciative, more flexible, less rigid, and generally better at going through the motions. I don’t constantly contemplate if I’m using my time wisely. I don’t constantly worry about money. I used to check my bank account every week or more. Now, I check it every couple weeks or less.

Over winter break, my wife and friends went to our usual end of year festival, Hijinx. There were a lot of familiar faces and then some. More importantly, though, we watched a show called Arcane with Bryan and Michelle. This show is about a family of two daughters and a father figure. He raised them in the Undercity with little resources, but he was a bar owner and kept them fed and out of trouble, the best he could. Unfortunately, these sisters weren’t gonna let Topside treat the Undercity the way it has and they made a plan to fight back. They traveled to Topside and stole some next generation explosives from a government lab. During an Undercity turf war, and a cruel twist of fate, their father was killed by the explosive they stole.

The sisters were separated after his death and they never saw each other again… Until one day, as adults, a decade or more later, one of them was freed from their jail cell in Topside and went to the Undercity to find her potentially surviving sister. Long story short, she did find her sister, but she wasn’t quite the same. She was frantic, manic, depressed, and resilient. She spent her entire life with the regret of killing her sister and father.

During the scene where the two sisters reunite, I couldn’t help but think of you, Rita. I couldn’t help but remember the dozens of dreams I’ve now had that you came back to life. The way they embraced each other was how I’d embrace you had you come back to life. How fucking dare they. How dare they make such a scene. She’s never coming back. She will never be back.

My wife said, “she’s still with you, she’s always with you…”

I think to myself, “is she?” What is a person but a collection of memories and a body. Although her body is gone, I share a very similar collection of memories. I still remember when she got her tooth knocked out at cheerleading, and when she was made fun of for wearing those shoes. When she had her falling out with Jayme and when she did a missions trip in Jamaica. I remember when she would eat clam chowder soup on a daily basis. I remember when we would scream at each other. We would scream as loud as we could.

We’d fight, scratch, claw, and pull while we screamed, “I hate you, I wish you would die…”

They always said, be careful what you wish for… it might come true.

In the same few weeks we were watching Arcane, we were doing extra-curricular activities and everything seemed to blend together. Am I my sister, Rita? Is Carolyn my sister?

Jane says we might feel certain ways about things because of past memories, not the object immediately present with us. Have all my relationships been about getting Rita back? Is Carolyn the most like Rita? Is that what I’m longing for? To fight and bicker with my sister again. Why, why are you dead Rita.

I cry out, I’m so tired. I wish she were back, please Rita, come back…

why did you have to leave us. Why
why
why
why

The prozac seems to reduce the noise. It let me hear my pain instead of like a flashbang, being stunned and incapable of hearing the voices. I feel her death in my gut. It’s the reason I’ve had digestive issues for more than a decade. I haven’t massaged the knot out of my gut. I felt it in my gut in the past couple weeks. I felt the pain. I felt the pain of her death. I was so good at ignoring my gut… I didn’t even have a connection to it. That’s probably why I could eat so much… huh. Since starting prozac, I feel like I’m connecting with my body better. We’ve also been reading through “The Body Keeps Score” which is extremely relatable and difficult to get through.

The author describes my exact issues. From digestive issues to skin irritation, he describes every detail.

Sometimes I described my intestines as feeling like a hand was grabbing them and, with malice, squeezing and torturing me. I had no idea it was Rita doing it the whole time.

I think Rita and I may have been best friends without even knowing it. We fought so much. Maybe we needed to fight like that. Maybe we knew the world out there needed us to be well trained. Maybe we knew it wouldn’t get any easier. Maybe she knew she’d have to die so we could live…

Jane is like the older sister I never had. The balance to Justin’s madness. Oh, Jane, thank you for being here. I thought several times over the winter break, “what if Jane goes away…” I’ve been worrying more and more about it… Damn it, I don’t know how much to go into this. I’m so fucked up. I’m so fucked up.

Please love me, please love me, my inner voice calls out. Please love me. Please love me.

I just don’t wanna be left alone again. Please
please
please don’t leave me again.

IT HURTS SO BAD! STOPPPP PLEASE
STOP HUIRTING ME

HOW DOES IT STOP… please stop it. please erase it. I can’t do it.

IT’S NOT FAIR.

The author of the book says we need to slowly lower the reactivity of particular ideas to regain control of ourselves. To reintegrate with the body we’ve lost touch with. Hypothetically, I lost touch with my gut and my brain is constantly sending signals, you’ve heard the expression, “scared shitless.” That is what’s happening. Every day, multiple times a day, I am scared shitless. I’m finally realizing why. It was not defective biology that made this mess. It was the constant hum of pain trapped in my gut. Like a lion with a thorn in its paw. The death of Rita, constantly gnawwing away at me…

Y’know, if I am as much Rita as she was me, which is probably partially true, when she died… a piece of me died too. Like a Horcrux. She held a piece of my soul. And when she died… a piece of me died too. I need to surrender that piece to the universe and let it go. Or something… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

I guess to resolve these ailments, I need to lower my reactivity to the thought of Rita.

We were in Boston and Cambridge this past week with Bryan and Michelle, after the Hijinx festival. During our stay, we drove over a bridge that rang bells in my head. This bridge was the same bridge my mother and I traveled across the day my sister passed away almost 13 years ago. Carolyn and I went to a restaurant not disimilar from the cafe my mother and I ate breakfast the day my sister died. I haven’t thought about that cafe since then. I started to cry as we sat down. A flashback of my mother sitting across from me. Was I sitting in front of my mother or Carolyn? Was I sitting in front of Carolyn or Rita? This Wonderland is messing with me. Who is who…

Who is Jane?

Who am I and who is Rita?

The song We Are Young by Fun played while I laid in bed at the Hijinx Airbnb. I wept… We Are Young is a song Rita would play when we drove to school in 2011 - 2012. I enjoyed it when Rita would drive us to school. Rita and I, although mortal enemies, respected each other greatly. She was very skilled at the efforts she proceeded with, as was I.

Toward the end of her life, Rita and I worked at the same Auntie Anne’s Pretzel Shop. It was only a few times before she passed that the both of us worked together, just the two of us and closed the store. We were good at it. We worked together well. We didn’t do things the same way, but this was a professional atmosphere and we weren’t going to let our differences stop us from being the best team there was. When it actually came time to do the right thing, Rita and I were a solid team. Fighting the scaries away for Emily. Emily, if you ever read this, I love you forever, and I’m sorry our childhood happened the way it did.

Sincerely,
Alex