Everyday feels like I am running through mud with my eyes closed and going backwards when really I should be going forwards, yet I see no point in it. The most I can do is stop and try to breathe. I wish somehow I could lift the ache inside my chest. I feel so much like a fraud living through every day. I go to university and sit in my lectures and I look normal. I look like everyone else, yet I am not. Every move I make is thought out. Every door I open, I don’t touch. I feel like I’m living in some kind of bubble that any moment is going to be invaded by I don’t even know what.
My mind is so crazy. No one knew today as I sat with a couple of class mates in the canteen and declared, no, I’m not hungry, I had a huge breakfast that I was lying. My stomach inside was starving. The smell of the soup from my friend’s tray, or the look for the chilli on the plate opposite me was like torture, but still I sat and did not eat. The stupid echo’s in my mind. Sometimes I wish they would just shut the hell up and get lost. I cannot eat, I don’t deserve too. It’s like having a voice on my shoulder, every time I go for food it starts with the names and the reminders and I just walk away defeated again.
I wish it would vanish.
I wish I could vanish.
It was my birthday a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t expect anything off my father as usual. He hasn’t bothered for 36 years, what would make 37 any different? But of course still there was that hope that never goes away. Maybe this year will be different, but it isn’t. He did message me a couple of days after, to tell me that he forgot. What kind of father forgets his child’s birthday? No matter how old they are. Why tell me? Why point out how useless you are and always have been. Is forgetting some kind of excuse? Doesn’t he realise it makes him look bad rather than excusing it?
I get mad at myself when I have anger at him. He had a heart attack and what if he dies? It wasn’t so long ago. I broke down when I was told, but I realise the reason I broke down wasn’t because I was afraid of losing my father, I wasn’t scared that he might die. What I was upset about was, he might die and never make amends. He might die and never say he’s sorry. He might die and never realise he is actually my father.
I realise I’m waiting for the impossible and I don’t know how to let go of that hope that keeps breaking my heart.
Reading this made (as you say) my eyes “wet” and my screen blurry. James I’m so sorry that your heart is broken.
You know that I understand when I say, that to be looked upon as an object that can be taken or left by your parents Is exactly that. Heartbreaking.
I don’t even feel that word is adequate.
Yet what word can describe all the things that fill a person with such catastrophic sadness and pain to the point to where they just want to leave this world? As well as, all the rest of the emotions that go along with this kind of pain.
Moreover, what kind of person knowingly adds to, or creates such an environment … for their child???
No one should have to experience such turmoil. Especially not you.
You can receive all the love, support and acceptance here, to last you ten lifetimes. And that is wonderful.
To realize the dream, if you will, of having your father show a bit of genuine remorse, approval and love, (when there was nothing for him to gain) would be… well only you truly know how that would be for you.
I get it.
I hope it would give you some validation. Some closure. Some hope for your future.
In the meantime, as always, I wish you peace, strength, perseverance, and most of all, happiness.
You are loved.
~ Hugs ~