Clutch

For all my emotional sensitivity, it has somehow fallen upon me to be "clutch" in my family. Whenever something bad goes down, I somehow end up policing everybody else. I mediate disagreements, I tell people to breathe when they're hysterical, I keep the cool levelheadedness necessary while everybody else freaks. I organize things, I collate, I make events happen. I am clutch.

Here's the problem with being clutch. When you're clutch, you don't get to have your own babbling hysteria moments.

A bad thing that I knew was going to happen happened last week to my baby brother. It is awful, horrible and totally deserved. We all knew it was going to happen someday, and it happened. We are all now desperately worried about him. My mother has been reduced to a blathering idiot, and it has fallen upon me to keep her shit together. She calls me crying hysterically and I spend 5 minutes telling her to breathe in and breathe out. She called out of work last week to spend a day with me and Jackson, and I made her soup and grilled cheese (is there any more comforting comfort lunch food?) and took her shopping. I've been distracting and encouraging and showing strength.

The problem is, deep down, I am a blathering idiot too. I just can't fall into hysterics when anyone is looking. I wait until the sun goes down, and in the privacy of my bedroom with my husband holding me, I pray and sob and beg for God's comfort and my brother's safety.

Then the morning comes, and my mother rings me at 8 am crying on her way to work. I am clutch again, and I have to be strong for her when inside I feel so small and helpless. I'm starting to resent being the keep it togetherer of the family, and I'm starting to wonder how much longer I can fake strength and grace under pressure.

In completely unrelated news, I changed my hair again and it's a darker blonde now, nearly light brown. It came out a little too ashy and I don't like it. I may dump a warm glaze on it later in the week.