I feel myself losing it. This hasn’t happened in weeks. I felt it creeping but did not expect a full breakdown at 2am.
I’m constantly thinking about my dad. Constantly thinking about how I lost him and how I am never getting him back.
I do not like when people question the dead like they chose to die. In this case, at least. But why, dad? Things were going to be different. I was going to see you again. I fantasised about coming back and showing you my Masters. You were gonna talk me through falling in love. We didn’t speak often and that is a regret i will live with for the rest of my life because i am your copy. It’s very ironic, isn’t it. The literal extension of that great man’s personality.. Now he is no more. I remember how he would reminisce about losing his father and end the statement with ‘now he is no more’. What a mind fuck.
Every time my mom says I act like him or that i am my ‘father’s daughter’ it hurts me. It’s just a reminder that my person is gone. Prior to him leaving, i was a confused mess in life. Regarding our relationship, I was so scared to be hurt. So scared to add to the abandonment issues. SCARED. Story of my fucking life. 11 years out of 25 and i have been living in fear. Fear to speak, fear to be. After my father left, I have been even worse for wear.
For the past year, I’ve been ;grieving’.At least that’s what I’ve been told.
If you asked me, I would say I’ve been taking up space. Nothing I have done in the past year has had a purpose. No aim, no objective, yet somehow everyone around me commends me on how strong I am. Even when the breakdown is apparent, I’m being told “It’s grief. You’ll feel better” Okay Stephanie but I don’t, now what?
I skipped his funeral, ya know? I couldn’t do it. As if me not witnessing his funeral somehow negated the real fact that he was dead. My father is dead. I won’t get to do it differently. He never got to see me thrive as an adult. It doesn’t seem worth it to make anything of myself. What a fucked thing to say.
I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I fear i may die. If it’s not from the comfort food, it will be the self-medication. If it’s not the self-medication, it’ll just be me.
I desperately crave peace. Desperately.
I am being told to distract myself but I have (Reid that, albeit unenthusiastically, but here i am, 2 am, cross legged on this raggedy bed, in this raggedy house, a looming headache from all the tears, wondering why I don’t write anymore.
My dad gave me this iPad for that reason and what have I done? Everything but write. His books are gone. The password to his Apple ID doesn’t work anymore so I guess he really is dead. His slides are gone. His pictures are gone.
I feel like a total fraud.
I may not know who this version of Aida is but what I can tell you for free is that she is a fraud and self-destructive as hell. IfI am not careful, she may end me.
Lord help me. I am grateful for life and the birds that sing. I am grateful for the chance to cry because that means I was awarded the chance to care and love. I am grateful for my father, even in the worst times. I do believe I will be okay. Either that or I will die.
At this rate, there’s not in between.
Aida's Viille 