Who am I?
Ask me who I am and I’d probably list off a bunch of my identities; A daughter, sister, friend, Tulane grad, foodie, traveler… you get the idea. These words can be used to describe my life but I don’t think it would encompass who I am. Just like a resume says little about someone’s personality. Good on paper doesn't always translate and any serial daters like myself have learned this the hard way.
At 18 I experienced the most traumatic experience I’ve ever had to deal with. The loss of my mom. She killed herself. It left for a lot of questions, uneasiness, anger, and a 180 life change. While losing my mom has shaped me into the person I am today I feel removed from this being my narrative. Many people in my life don’t know she passed. Those who do likely don’t know it was due to suicide. It is weird when people don’t ask but it's also weird when people do. The topic is always awkward because I either feel like I am hiding a part of myself or sharing a part of myself I don’t entirely feel. If it comes up in conversation and someone asks about my mom I reply saying “I don’t have a mom.” No matter how many times I am asked, this is what I revert to even though I DID have a mom. It feels odd having those words come off my tongue but it's almost driven deep in my subconscious. I think about why I don’t just say “she passed,” but to me, it doesn’t feel as true. Maybe this is a defense mechanism.
My version of what I learned a mom should be, came from watching TV, movies, and being around friend’s families. The sense of the word “mom” never seemed to apply to my mom. She wasn't typical. I always felt like she was someone I was forced to live with but I never felt a deep connection. I never felt understood.
Looking back now, her lack of motherliness can easily be explained by what she was struggling with within her head. Depression. It is an ugly energy that takes everything away from life. It is part of why we had such a hard time bonding. Sadly, I don’t remember many happy times even though she was in my life for 18 years. Maybe I pushed memories deep down, or maybe there truly weren’t many, to begin with. We also don’t have many pictures together and that doesn’t help my lack of retention.
Her suicide took other things from me as well. My parents were divorced and I only lived at my mom’s. My dad has his own set of problems that resulted in a lack of responsibility for me. So when my mom passed I pretty much lost my whole life. I lost my house, my car, financial support, and pretty much anything I owned. I became my own guardian in a matter of moments. I lost my sense of home and its meaning began to shift to college. New Orleans became my home whether I intended for it to or not.
She died three weeks into my freshman year, and even though my time in New Orleans was short, I couldn’t stand being anywhere else. At school, no one knew what happened unless I wanted them to, and to be honest no one cared. Family wasn’t something many people thought about since it felt so far removed. When summer came around I was terrified to go back “home” because I wasn’t really going home, I didn’t have one anymore. I stayed in my tiny dorm room a week longer than everyone else. Approved by the board because I assume, people took pity.
I flew back and lived with a friend until I eventually moved in with a stranger in a 4 million dollar lincoln park mansion. Well a stranger to me but she was my mom’s sorority sister who I had never heard of before. Again, probably took pity. Obviously, at 19, the idea of staying in a mansion in the city practically alone (they traveled a lot) was enticing. It didn’t feel like home but it didn’t feel like my old life either. It was an adventure of sorts.
Being at school and even that summer allowed me to separate my worlds. The change of environment made it easier and easier until I think the two worlds completely separated and I was now living in a world where it wasn’t my story. I sometimes wonder if I would even recognize the girl I used to be. I had a job to pay for finances, worked out daily, and had a long-distance boyfriend to keep me occupied.
When school started up again Sophomore year I was able to relax a little. I got to pretend to be a normal kid like everyone else. It was easier to ignore my problems because in a way they ceased to exist at college. This feeling would last for long periods but sometimes I would burst. I became frustrated since I felt isolated. Many of my friends had no idea what it means to support yourself let alone losing a parent. I kept my job remote so that I could keep up the lifestyle my friends did and I was lucky enough to have scholarships as well as a college fund my grandpa set up for me before he passed.
I never felt like it was fair that not only did I lose my mom, I lost all financial support. I became my own parent. I know it can always be worse especially since I come from a background that allowed me privileges and resources others would not. But it is easy to compare yourself to your friends. No one understood me and sometimes I felt like there was no thought or empathy. Always picking expensive restaurants, showing off the $200 bikini they bought… It felt like my situation was thrown in my face. I love my friends but some will never understand the anger I felt at their words and actions. Sometimes their life seemed worlds away. I sought out additional friends who I felt wouldn’t cause me to face my reality.
My first boyfriend came from a wealthy family. His dad’s company sold to HP and you would never know this. I don’t think many of my friends even know this now. He went around the world acting like nothing was owed to him and that he should work for what he wanted. And by “work” I am referring to selling drugs and becoming the school’s biggest weed dealer but that is another story for another time. He taught me one important lesson that has stuck with me. “It is not your responsibility to save people.” His friends who also became my close friends included a bunch of people who had their fair share of mental health issues. I took it upon myself to help so that what I went through wouldn’t happen to them. I took on their burden and it was exhausting. Although I felt like it was my duty to help and it pained me not to do anything I became better at stepping back as time passed. I can’t save everyone and it's not my responsibility to. I still struggle with this at times but it isn’t good for my mental health to take on this role, it's very triggering.
In my Junior year, I met and fell in love with an asshole. Falling in love with assholes at 21 is normal, I know but I loved him because he understood my hardships and had his own. He was at Tulane on full scholarship and scaffolded all summer to pay for housing. His mom had him at 16 and he grew up in a trailer home. My story is different, yes, but when we were together we knew there would be no bullshit about other people’s privilege thrown in our faces. My friends never got what I saw in him besides his looks and height. Well, this is it. A mutual understanding and respect that never needed to be addressed. This was hard to find at our school.
Now if you were to meet me no part of this is apparent. You probably would be unlikely to find out I lost my mom, unlikely to know I struggled financially because of it and struggled to feel like I belonged. It is not how I am defined which is why when I say “I lost my mom to suicide” it is hard to feel the weight and reality of that being my story. So no, it's not who I am and it's not my identity. It's only a small part of my story. I like to think that one day I will do enough to have my own Wikipedia page. Self-centered, I know but follow along. This part of my life would be one sentence, “at 18 Sydney lost her mom to suicide,” but this will be buried in the hundreds of other sentences explaining who I am.
