Three posts in one night. I must be spiraling, haha. No title this time as I'm also tired.
Regarding my mental health, it has taken a huge toll on me. People don't really discuss the PTSD that the remaining fire survivors have and we are left to silently suffer because we didn't have it "as bad" and we all "at least still have homes." I still evacuated through the burning flames and harsh smoke, I still shook hard as I attempted to stay calm and maintain composure, I still cried and fought my way through to find out anything I could just like everyone else.
But it's awful. My survivor's guilt is intense. My extended family hasn't checked on me or replied back to me, whether they were fire victims or not. For example, I've actually been forgotten in the first and only family fire call I joined where we were all in a Zoom meeting together. We were called on one by one to discuss how we were feeling and what we needed a prayer for, and I was completely skipped and they just rapidly jumped into prayer before I could speak up. I gave up on calls after that, and they haven't asked where I was.
My neighborhood went from crumbled debris piles to excavators shaking the earth every morning at 7am to flattened dirt plots. Every day a new For Sale sign pops up. Three properties on my street alone sold, and I'll never see those neighbors again. Altadena not for sale, we say. But many are still selling, they have no choice. My days at home are now filled with the sounds of continued excavation in the distance, and my nights are filled with growing darkness, coyote packs yelping, owls hooting, air purifiers running 24/7 in every room.
Staying at my in-laws—both sister and parents—was awful for my mental health. For some reason, my coping mechanism turned to cleaning everything which was in my favor for cleaning the entire house, haha. But I ended up getting extremely anxious and icked out at my in-laws homes. They're not exactly the cleanest groups, and I was faced with daily black mold, rats and rat fences, trash, old food, clogged plumbing, and so much more. I cleaned what I could for them quietly and even got my cousin involved in extermination attempts via Daniel (to make it seem like he was proactive in something), but I couldn't keep up. I had to go. I needed to leave. I unfortunately can't bring myself to set foot in their homes again due to the filth, though I am grateful they took us in during our time of need.
I've also become numb to so much. I am no longer mourning the loss of our town, I am just existing. I work each day, I come home and do chores. Things in the news no longer shock me. I don't cry for things that are sad anymore. I feel empathy and sympathy still, but the words that come out of my mouth are routine comfort.
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My thoughts keep going back to my friend. "I can be here to keep the silence away whenever you need me."
I appreciate him. I appreciate this. I smile so much when he's around. He might be my path to healing, but I don't know how. I don't want to rely on him though, he's got his own life to worry about, his own future to think about for he is still so young.















