The Story of My Dad

It’s been quite a while since I last wrote on this blog, since September 2017 to be exact. A lot has happened in these last few months- one being my father passing away.

Five years ago, when I was about 15, my father was diagnosed with liver cancer and the doctor told us he had 6 months to live. I vividly remember that day. My father called me and my little brother downstairs and I saw my mom crying on the couch. I knew instantly that something wasn’t right looking at her face but I never thought it was going to be a death sentence. I remember my dad telling us what the doctor said, that there was a tumor in his liver and that his liver was also wrecked with cirrhosis. My mother sat next to me sobbing and my brother didn’t say a word, this was the moment that I realized I couldn’t let them see how upset I was.

My father always said that I was the most level headed one in the house and that I was his rock so I knew that if I broke down right there he would as well. So I simply said,”Okay. Is that all the doctor told you?” I don’t remember what else I said but I do remember looking out the glass door and watching the sunset. I tried to focus my energy on watching the sky change colors and how pretty the golden sunlight looked passing through the leaves of the tree in our front yard because I could feel the anxiety and sadness washing over me and I didn’t want them to see that. I remember going upstairs and locking my bedroom door and immediately breaking down. I also remember calling my best friend and crying over the phone. It’s a surprise she could understand me through the hyperventilating and sobbing but she told me she would come over and pick me up for a sleepover so I could get my mind off of things. Looking back at it now I am pretty sure that was one of my first bad anxiety attacks.

After that day everyone in my family changed. My parents became more religious and overbearing demanding we do everything together as a family. I remember getting in trouble one Valentine’s Day because I wanted to spend the day with my friends but my parents were livid saying that I should be with family because my dad was dying. That was the card they played anytime they wanted to get their way and it honestly made me resent them for a while. My little brother on the other hand became more reserved and quiet. He never opened up about his feelings and he didn’t apply himself in school. Meanwhile I was starting to focus on going to college and try to handle the pressure my father put on me to take care of the family. I typically call this period of my life my bitch period. I was so stressed with graduating high school and applying to colleges that the added pressure of my dying father pushed me over the edge. Luckily I had a pretty strong support group of friends who kept me in check otherwise I probably would’ve given up on everything.

Flash forward a little bit farther into the future and this year was probably one of the hardest years of my life and probably everyone in my family’s lives. In the beginning of the year the hospital finally told us that there was nothing else they could do for my father. They put him into hospice care and we started planning for his death. Oddly enough when my father was first placed in hospice he was still healthy; he still seemed like the man I knew my whole life. In fact, my mother told me of a conversation they had and my father wondered if he was put in hospice too soon. He seemed fine up until the week before he died. The week before, my mother and I were up until 5 am trying to take care of him because he was having hallucinations and wandering around the house but he didn’t know where he was. He also kept falling and my mother and I couldn’t life him up so we ended up having to call the fire department to come carry him back to bed. That night hospice said he was what they called “pre-active” which meant that he was in the stage before dying.

Then a week later I was about to go to bed when my mother started banging on my door sobbing. She said that my dad told her to let him go. So I went downstairs and held my fathers hand. I didn’t know that was going to be the last time I was going to hold his hand. My mother was in hysterics, his two sisters were also over at our house crying, and my brother was as distant as ever. So I did what I knew he would’ve wanted me to do- I acted as his rock. I held his hand and told him I forgave him for wanting to go and that I would take care of the family. I told him I loved him and that if he was in pain and it was his time to go that I gave him permission to do so.

That was a long night. I ended up calling hospice and getting instructions from them to administer the liquid morphine because he was in an incredible amount of pain and he couldn’t swallow his oxycodone. I was so scared but I was the only one stable enough to take action and care for him. An over night nurse came over that night and told my mom that he was in the “active” stage now and he had about five days left. I remember being relieved that we still had more time and maybe I could talk to him one last time the next day. Unfortunately he passed away in his sleep about three hours after.

This past month has been insane but I am also relieved that my father is no longer in pain. Despite preparing myself for years the day he died still came as a shock to me. I don’t think you can truly prepare yourself for something like that but thankfully my friends, family, and therapist have all been great with supporting me. I do miss my father greatly and I wish he could’ve been there when I eventually graduate college, get married, and have kids of my own but perhaps he is watching over me and my family and we will be reunited with him later on in life.

 

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Tired of Hurting

One would assume that after countless attempts at finding love I would have already given up by now. Hell, I’ve told myself that I was ready to give up and just learn to be okay with the overwhelming feeling of loneliness and worthlessness. Yet here I am after another attempt, trying to soothe my shattered heart and aching soul. 

Almost every part of me screams to give up and just let it be. To accept the fact that I just seem to be unlovable to everyone. Some nights I beg myself to give my heart a break. I’m tired of putting myself back together only to break again. It’s like I’m fixing myself with cheap glue that doesn’t do it’s job very well rather than filling in the cracks with cement like I should. 

However there is one small sliver of me who keeps on fighting, who keeps holding on. That one small piece who keeps throwing myself back out there because how can I find love if I don’t try. I can’t be a recluse and expect it to happen to me. 

A bit of me hates that little part of me. I hate that after I let myself cry for hours in bed at night I let it fill me with hope-perhaps a false sense of hope, but hope nonetheless. 

How can I keep going when nothing has given me the reason to keep going? People who say they love me always leave. People who promise not to hurt me always do. 
I’m so tired of being hurt.

My Anxiety

Everyone hates you. Your friends hate you, thats why they haven’t talked to you today. That guy you were talking to that you thought liked you? That’s funny. He is wasting your time and actually does not care about you whatsoever. Everyone thinks you’re annoying. You will never find love and you will be alone forever.

That’s some of the things I tell myself every day. Well I guess I should say what my anxiety tells me everyday. Some days are worse than others- depending on what happens thought the day I guess. 

Today it’s especially bad because I was really busy and didn’t have enough time to talk to any of my friends or the guy I was interested in and now no one is responding to me. I know I am overreacting. I know that they don’t hate me and that they care about me. My mind just can’t stop thinking it and I hate it. I know they are busy people with their own lives and it doesn’t mean anything that they haven’t responded to my texts but I am taking it so personally.

I wish I didn’t take things like this so seriously and I didn’t care. I wish I was normal and could handle being ignored by people. 

My anxiety is so crippling sometimes. I wish it would just go away and let me live. Living with anxiety is so hard but I can’t imagine what it’s like without it constantly whispering negative things into my ear.

You Hurt Me

You hurt me everytime you talk about wanting someone else. Everytime you bring up someone flirting with you or how you want to make out with other people. 

I should be over you. I know that. We broke up in April. I shouldn’t feel a painful stab in my heart anytime you bring up things like that anymore. I wish I was over you. I don’t want to feel this pain over someone who probably doesn’t feel the same about me when I tell him my endeavours with the guy from my local deli.

I am completely over you until you bring up things like that. So I guess that means I’m not over you at all. 

I want to tell you. I want you to know how much you are hurting me and how much I still want you. However I know better. I know not to because you are going to get upset and I would rather suffer in silence that have you upset at me. 

Honestly I shouldn’t be talking to you anymore. I should cut all ties with you because I know for a fact it would be better for me. I would finally have peace in my heart and live without the daily reminder of your existence and that you are spending that existence not loving me back. 

Unfortunately for me I can’t. Well not can’t but won’t. I won’t because we have the same friends and I don’t want them to choose one or the other. I won’t because you state how you rarely talk to people but still talk to me every day and I don’t want you to feel alone. I won’t because there is one pathetic part of me that hopes maybe one day you will want to come back to me and I want to be there waiting for you with open arms.

You hurt me so much but I’ll never let you know just how much to save you from the pain you cause me.

I Miss You

I thought by now I would be over you. I thought by now the pain wouldn’t be so strong. I was sadly mistaken.

I miss you. I miss talking to you. I miss the happiness you gave me and the love I felt for the first time in my life. I especially miss staying up late talking on the phone about random topics or how our days were. 

Whatever we had is gone now though. There is no hope for it coming back and I think that’s what especially hurts the most. You aren’t going to come back for me. You don’t care about me. You don’t love me anymore.

A huge part of me feels pathetic that I still think about you. I feel pathetic that I still feel like we could get back together one day. 

The saddest part is that if you asked me to take you back I would, in a heartbeat. I would do it despite the pain and the heartbreak and all the countless nights I spent crying myself to sleep wishing you were here in my bed holding me like you once did. I would take you back because I still love you and you still own a place in my heart.

My Problems With Trust

I find it hard to trust people these days. Before I used to trust too much and got hurt all of time from the people who used that trust to get what they wanted. Thanks to them I don’t let people in anymore. It’s not like I find it hard to make personal connections, I have plenty of close friends who I care about and vice versa.

Something in me has changed recently though. I have plenty of close friends from before a certain time but now I seem to have trouble connecting with new people. I even find it hard to open up to my therapist at times and tend to hold things back from her. It’s hard for me to pinpoint the exact time that the change happened. Perhaps it was gradual, the pain from people using me building until it was an impenetrable wall.

I do know it happened very recently though- in the last year maybe. It could’ve started the day one of my close friends passed away last fall. I have had deaths in my family before but I was never very close with them so it never affected me that much. This time, with a close friend who I saw as a little sister, was different though. It was in that moment that I realized how scary and permanent death was. I know almost being 20 means that I should have realized before then and I did but I had never felt the true impact of it so strongly before. After that tragic incident I kept my friends closer and started shying away from making new friends. Maybe it was due to the fear that they too could die and hurt me as much as my dear friend.

Plus the whole parental abuse really impacted me to say the least. I should’ve known I was going to grow up with some trust issues thanks to that. Maybe I’m dumb for thinking this but aren’t your parents supposed to be the one thing you trust the most in life? That’s how I think it should be. Sadly, my parents failed me in that category.

Another possibility is when my first boyfriend broke up with me this past spring. That was the first person I ever loved and was completely vulnerable to. I told him everything about me and I gave him every part of me. He had me in the palm of his hands and I would’ve done anything for him due to the amount of pure, unadulterated love I had for him. I honestly believed he was the one which makes me feel like I sound insanely naive due to the fact that he was my first ever relationship. However I was convinced we were soulmates considering the fact that we just clicked perfectly. Our personalities complimented each other and we had similar enough interests to hold interesting conversations. Then one day he told me he never loved me; he told me he thought of me as just a friend. I was broken. He broke me. The person I gave everything to, the person I loved so deeply, was just giving up on me. Now I find it hard to open up to people in a romantic sort of way and push away anyone who seems interested. It’s because I am scared to let someone back in and then have them walk out.

Maybe I also have commitment problems that walk hand in hand with my trust issues. That makes a lot of sense. I wish I trusted people more though. I hate being so closed off. I want to be like the old me who wanted to be friends with everyone and who thought everyone was good. When did I become more cynical and jaded? Why did I become the way I am? I guess that’s what I’m trying to figure out through this whole thing. Hopefully I’m closer to finding the answer.

Your Ghost

Memories of you haunt me. 

Some days I don’t think about you at all or what happened between us and all the pain it brought to me. I can think clearly on those days. I feel like the sun when it finally breaks through the clouds after it has rained for days.

Other days you’re all I can think about. It feels like I’m drowning in my own mind. Drowning in darkness because that’s what you left behind. The pain I felt settles on my chest, the heaviness of it makes me feel like I can’t breathe. 

I wonder if you ever get that way too. I wonder if I haunt your mind the same way you haunt mine. Maybe you don’t remember me at all. Maybe you got the pleasure of being able to move past the pain and hurt, to be able to live like usual. I’m not going to lie I hope you do feel the pain sometimes. I know it makes me a bad person but I want you to suffer like I do. 

My whole life I believed in ghosts. I never had any experiences with the paranormal but I always thought they existed. What if ghosts aren’t only the lost, tormented souls of people who have passed. What if ghosts are also the memories of people, the memories of what those people left behind that will sneak up on you in moments of weakness. Those ghosts reside in the crevices of your mind and roam the vast emptiness of your heart. 

I wish I wasn’t haunted by your ghost and I don’t know how to get rid of it.