There are days when I miss having you to talk to like a suffocating person misses air. When I gulp in and drown in memories and “what ifs” and “what might have beens”. There are days when I don’t think about you at all. Today is the former.
There are days when I think I would give an appendage to hear your voice, jokes, laughter, sarcastic assery. To catch you up on all my life has been since we last spoke.
Has it really been 14 years? It feels longer.
There is so much you do not know. So much there is no way to tell you, because “you” no longer exist; only the memories of the handful who cared about retain.
I want to share with you the small and large victories of my life. I want to spill all the hurt you have not been there for. I want to hear you ask me “what do you think you should do?” and just know the answer like I used to.
Since you disappeared on me, and especially since you killed yourself, I have not taken anyone for granted that I could really talk to. There have only been two.. but I appreciated having that feeling of..I don’t even know what it is. Being able to talk and just let shit go, like a dandelion caught in a gust of wind. I can talk to neither any more, for various reasons..but I still appreciate – and am thankful – to have had that, even if for a little while.
There are still days I’d like to bitchslap the shit out of you. You wasted so much time, ending your life. You wasted even more by refusing contact and refusing to contact me the 7 years before you killed yourself. 14 fucking wasted years. I am only 34 now. In 6 more years, I will have lived as long without you as with. It is not like you died of some heinous disease or wound. You chose to remove yourself from existence.
Y’know.. I have found few people I can count on. Truly count on. Some can’t due to circumstance..most you just can’t count on. We colour our children’s expectations on how to be treated and how to treat others by how we treat them and how we allow others to treat us. You could say I was set up for failure my entire childhood with the parents I had. Both dead before I hit mid-30s, both abusive in their own ways. Don’t get me wrong, dad..you were a great friend to play games with, watch movies with, go to theme parks with, and even learn a shitload about history with…but you were a shit-ass fucking father. And frankly, a FATHER is what I needed.
I think, all things considered, I have turned out pretty god damn good so far. Yeah, I was in an abusive marriage. But I left on my own steam. Through some subterfuge, of course..but I left by my own will and choice. And survived through stupid high willpower, through the loyalty and love of friendships I and they cultivated. I apparently have the willpower and constitution of a god damn dwarf with most things, or maybe I just thrive off the double dose of stubbornness I got from both my paternal and maternal lines. ‘Cuz I am one stubborn as fuck bitch. But I am still here.
Now and then, I go through valleys in my life that make my desire to talk to you feel like a chasm teeming with parasites clambering to get out. The screams get stuck in my throat and it’s all I can do to not curl up in a ball and disappear from the world entirely. But that would be irresponsible. I have a job, kid, things I Have To Do. I don’t have the luxury of hiding out, running away, getting in my car and driving until it can’t go any more. No matter how good it sounds. I don’t really think of you when the good stuff happens any more. Life goes on, you see. Actually, I guess you didn’t see, which is why you killed yourself. But it does. Whether you are here or not, life goes on. And it gets better, when we let it.
Funny thing, life….
I rarely miss you any more. I rarely have thoughts about how my kids will never get one of your huge hugs, how I’ve never had another hug like yours, no matter how much they put in to the hug. You always put everything you didn’t say in to those hugs and, maybe I’m remember with a child’s innocence since I have not seen you in nearly 17 years, but.. your hugs were magical in a way I hope I convey to my kids. But I rarely miss yours any more. I rarely think how you won’t be there to walk me down whatever if I’m ever stupid enough to get married again. Or how you’ll never meet a single fucking grandchild. Or how you’ll never again sit at a piano playing, then get that creepy voice and say “and he sloooooooooooowly turrrrrrrrrrned arouuuuuuuuund”. I rarely think of you at all any more, except in passing. I see pictures and I rarely feel anything beyond a very slight momentary pang.
But sometimes, no matter how old she gets, a girl needs her father. To lift up her chin and say “you’re going to make it”. To listen quietly. To just be there during good or bad times. To know he’s there to call.
So much has happened in the past 14 years. So much loss. But with loss came the opportunity for rebirth, to rebuild, to gain more than I had before. I keep trying to remember that. Some days are easier than others.. It is not easy to always inspire & motivate yourself to lift yourself up. I don’t really share much of what is in my head, so I don’t give many the opportunity to lift me up. Frankly, it’s not their business. Even here on my webpage, I only share some of what is going on, and most of it is vague musings of bigger issues, not personal shit. The shit I HAVE shared has been pretty fucking common knowledge for some time….And I don’t really care if people know them, quite frankly. These are things I have survived, they are not who I am. And I have worked so very hard not to choose to let others’ actions or words cheapen my existence, my life, by changing who or what I am. I have most assuredly failed in that aspect in the past year or so. Quite a bit.
I am not bitter so much as colder. I do not feel as much as I used to.
Time passes. Sometimes slowly, sometimes like a raging river after a month of flooding. But today…today is a day I’d like to call you, to hear your voice, to know you’re there. To know you’ll be there a while longer. And talking to dead air never made me feel better.
The pain doesn’t end until we’re dead, but when we kill ourselves, we just give our pain to someone else.
Wish you were still here.