It’s been a while.

I haven’t felt the need to write lately, mainly because I feel like no one cares what I have to say. But tonight, I have that heavy, anxious feeling in my chest as if words are slowly filling up my veins, and if I don’t let them bleed out, then I will undoubtedly explode.

There are so many topics, sentences, and questions flowing through me – how do I pick out what to write down? After months upon months of nothing, why is this happening now? Words often flow through easier through my veins when I am in a state of depression, so my mental stability comes into question. I know I have been feeling more down and emotional lately, but surely my body realizes that I don’t have time to fall into a state of depression. Right?

Time has made a habit out of making the loss of a loved one easier. Time, this time, has failed me. It has been two years, three months, and six days since I lost my father. The longer he’s gone, the more of my life he’s missing, and the more it hurts like no pain I have ever experienced before. I can feel the emptiness swell through my body like a disease that eats every ounce of energy and happiness that I have left. Mannequins enjoy life more than I do sometimes.

I earned my Associate’s Degree (although useless, it’s still somewhat of an accomplishment), graduated with honors, on the Dean’s List, and a member of two National Honor Societies. You weren’t there, and honestly, I didn’t really want to be there either. I transferred to the university that I swore I’d never go to. I got into the Social Work program, and I’m a member of a couple of organizations. But I haven’t been able to tell you that. You haven’t been able to tell me that you’re proud and that you love me.

That’s what hurts so deeply, Dad. My life is moving forward without you in it. Some days, I want to just stand still. I want to quit, go back to bed, and never wake up. I want to be where ever you are. You are supposed to be here, at least until I’m done with school and get married. No twenty-four year old should have to lose their father. I’ve thought I was an adult since I was a teenager, but losing you was a harsh slap in the face. I still need my daddy, so come back. Come back and guide me, love me, and show me all of the things that I still need to know.

I live in two different realities:

  1. Depression, anxiety, sadness, irritability, anger, swollen eyes, exhaustion, migraines, aches, and pains. Nothing is worse than the sound of my alarm. I dread the thoughts of simply existing. I lack motivation. What is the point in all of this? Why do I stretch myself so thin all of the time? Why do I try so hard and care so much? We are all going to die anyway.
  2. My passions overwhelm me and I have too many things I want to get done. I am ready to start my day with a shower and an iced latte. The weather is beautiful and I want to sit outside, feel the sunshine, and listen to the birds sing. I feel my depression awakening, but I’m able to put her back to sleep. I put my anxiety back to bed as well. I’m able to overcome my negative emotions and everything is okay. I am going to change the world for the better.

To those who don’t struggle with mental illness, I may seem like a manic mess. To those who can relate, they know that this is a normal part of life. To outsiders unaware of my internal struggle, they would never assume anything was wrong. I seem like a ‘normal’ person. Some days, I even feel sort of normal.

My veins no longer feel like they are going to explode from the accumulation of unsaid words. Self-care is important, necessary even. Writing is self-care for me. I am still learning to love and respect myself.

Time. Everything takes time.

Advertisements

t i m e

Time heals all wounds, except for this one
As time goes by, I feel more empty
The longer you’re gone, the more my heart aches
The longer you’re gone, the harder this is to take
Time isn’t on my side this time around
The longer I have to miss you, the harder it is to remember your familiar sound
I miss the scent of your white cotton shirt and the warmth of your chest as I lie my head to the sound of your beating heart
Your heart that no longer beats is now just a memory
Time can’t heal this wound
Time can’t give you back to me

Lost

I feel sick to my stomach and faint of heart
I think of what I’ve lost
I wonder how I’ve kept from completely falling apart
Life is a journey
For some, that journey is hard and cold
Every time I seem to get warm, it starts to snow
Some people are gone due to death taking it’s toll
Some people are gone due to life’s changing roles
Whether taken from the earth, or just from my life, you remain forever in my heart
Whether you are floating in heaven, or walking in a nearby park
If I don’t have you, then I think of what I’ve lost

Fiery Sign

As I look into the night sky,
I think of you.
Are the Heavens up above?
Is it just endless blue?
I ask, if you can hear me, to summon a shooting star
to shoot across the night sky, so that I know that you can hear me from afar.
Looking up, hopeful, I wait for my fiery sign;
but, to my disappointment, nothing catches my eye.
If you could hear me, my sweet father, I know you’d show me a sign.
In this moment, yet again I wonder, if there is an after life.

Some days,

Some days, like today, I feel like the world is caving in around me. All of my progress seems to run away and I’m left empty and tired. Sleeping never helps, although it can be a good escape. It’s a good escape if my dreams stray from turning into nightmares that wake me in a cold, abrupt, sweat. Tears wash my mascara onto my acne-prone cheeks as I sit, in the fetal position, in my bathroom floor. I don’t know why, but that’s always seemed like the best place to cry, especially on a pile of dirty towels I’ve let accumulate over the week. Sometimes, I can hear his voice in my head so perfectly that it’s like he’s whispering in my ear; some days, like today, I have to strain to hear, “I love you too, sweetheart.” That’s my only comfort.. that, and remembering his smile. Some days, like today, I feel like he should still be here; I yearn to put my head on his left shoulder and smell his comforting and familiar scent. He’d wrap his arms around me and I’d tell him how much I love him; he’d tell me the same in return. I’d give anything for one more hug, although I know one more would never be enough. Some days, unlike today, I feel like he’s been gone an eternity. Those days are a little easier, though not much. Even on those days, it’s usually easy to hear his voice in my head. Today, I’m sad, empty, broken, and lost. Tomorrow, who knows. I’ll end my day missing you, only to wake up the same; maybe tomorrow will be an easier kind of pain.

f a i t h

Faith is no longer, nor has been for a very long time, enough to get me through the day. Faith, to me, is an optimistic lie you tell yourself to feel better about something that you desperately need to be true; having faith means you know what you are telling yourself can not be proven. Otherwise, we would not need faith.. we would just know. I realize that faith is a wonderful tool for many people, but I need fact. I need proof. I need a sign that what I am believing is real. My mind identifies faith as a coping mechanism; my mind also needs to deal with life as it is, not what I tell myself it is. My mother tells me that faith grows stronger with age, and I do desperately hope that is true for me. My mind has always questioned what I have been told and sought to find answers that make sense to me. I am not certain that I will ever find the answers that I am looking for, but I will never stop trying.

I’ve always believed in the supernatural. I’ve never seen a spirit, but I’ve believed those who say they have. Psychics who can talk to the dead seem convincing, knowing things that seem to prove their authenticity.

I’ve never felt more alone in my entire life. I always viewed the afterlife as, in some way, overlapping life here on earth. Up until now, I’ve never felt so confined. For the first time since my dad’s death, I’m actually realizing that he’s gone. He is actually gone.

I’ve cried until my insides ached. I have begged my dad to let me know he is okay. I’ve begged him to show me a sign, to flicker a light, to say something.. but he hasn’t. I’ve asked God why; why do other people claim to have seen loved ones, talk with them, feel their hands around them, and I get nothing? My dad was ALWAYS there when I needed him, but not now. I begged and begged with the deepest parts of me; I told my dad that I needed to know that he is okay. If he heard me and saw my pain, why couldn’t he show me? I know if he heard me, and was able, that he would. If others can have closure, why can’t I? Is everyone else just lying to themselves as a coping mechanism? Can the dead really communicate with us? I don’t know. All I know is that my dad is gone and I’m not okay.

My mind no longer sees earth and ‘Heaven’ as connected. I see an impenetrable wall around everything that I know. I feel closed off and scared. Death stole my father and I don’t know where it took him. The past twenty-four years of my life, I’ve had my dad. Suddenly, I’m supposed to just be okay without him? I’m supposed to just accept that he’s gone with no explanation as to where he went? I’m supposed to accept that other people have talked to or seen their passed loved ones, but I haven’t? Call me selfish, but I need to have that same experience. If I can’t know that my dad is okay, then no one else should be able to have the comfort of knowing their loved ones are okay. Screw that and screw everyone else.

Until I have answers, and proof, then I’m going to be angry. I’m angry that this life is so cruel and it doesn’t get any better. We are all going to die in the end, but to go where? To just disappear? We spend our life being the best we can, raising a family, comforting friends, being charitable, making memories, spreading love, creating an identity for ourselves. How can losing the last bit of air in our lungs just take all of that away? Our body is merely a shell for everything that lies within us, so where do we go? Where does the deepest and most beautiful parts of us go? I can’t make myself believe that we just disappear into nothing. My father can’t just vanish; he meant too much to just go away forever.

How am I supposed to be okay without knowing that he is okay?