Why I Hate Japan

My brother is leaving for Japan. In a few days, both he and his wife will be gone. I can't even begin to describe how much this hurts to write. But I write because I need to write about it, need to give this grief a voice, need to get it outside of me.

I don't want to think about how empty my life will feel without them in it. I don't want to imagine the times when I will want to walk next door to their apartment and realize that they aren't there. I don't want to deal with reality that they have made living here tolerable.

And I really don't want to think about them not being here to love Jack with me. This is, absolutely, the most painful aspect of their departure.

They are leaving to create a new life together in Japan, to spend the first year of their marriage in adventure, to get a start that is fresh and exciting. And I get excited for them when I think about this. It took them a lot of hard work to get to this place, the day after their wedding, two weeks before Japan. My support for them has been unwavering, and it still is.

But I am left here in my own life without them, without the adventure, without the new marriage, without the excitement. I have dirty dishes in my sink and a shitty job to go to. I am sickeningly aware of my jealousy of their companionship, of their new start, and of their courage to follow their dreams and suddenly my life feels empty and sallow, like a white washed photo. I hate my job, I hate where I live, I hate being broke, I hate being alone. There, I said it.

So, their leaving is like a double whammy. First of all, I am losing my companions, my immediate support, my friends, my family. I am losing two individuals who stand with me in my life and love it with me. I am losing the comfort of a good neighbor, the person I can drop in on anytime, day or night, and who is happy to see me. I am losing two of Jack's most favorite people, people who he lights up around. God, that is so hard to write.

Secondly, their leaving forces me to recognize the lack of energy I have for my own life, how little I am enjoying it, and how ready I am for a change. And this isn't so hard to write. In fact, I'm really glad to put a label on the lethargic, dissociative way that I've been moving through my days. It's time for a shift; it's time for a change.

I helped Corey pack today. I hated it. But I just want to soak up every minute that I have left with him. The grief and the fear of not having him nearby came in waves as I placed his dishes into boxes, each wave just as hard as the last. There seems to be no reprieve in sight. And right now I cannot imagine ever being okay with their absence, cannot imagine thinking of them without that painful lump clogging my throat.

But I know better. I know that one day I will think of them and I will not have to wipe away tears or clear my throat. I know that I will learn to live without them and their absence won't feel like a gaping, black hole. I've done this before, with ex-boyfriends and roommates and pets. It always feels like death, those first few days, weeks, months. Everything hurts, as if I'm walking around with no skin.

So, I'm going to go do what I always do in times of deep emotional turmoil: read Harry Potter. Lumous to me.