A Writer's Downfall.

Resentful

Is it really wrong of me to sit here and grovel into my computer regularly? 

I almost enjoy, this. I'm able to say the things I can't say to others. 

I feel like my mind is too deep for others understanding sometimes, but I'm doing this as a way to see if I'm not alone? if that makes sense to you. This is like my own story, but without a story. My readers have probably read my other book amnesia, which honestly, was a book I wrote when I was angry with my father. 

My father was a homeless man, and in the part where Axel literally kills homeless people in a dark and sinister way, it's like me releasing the anger I had toward my own dad. It sucks.

I talk to my therapist every other week and it almost always comes back to my dad. 

All I can say is how stupid everything is. 

it's all stupid to me, my dad's death, how he died, my last words to him, everything about it. 

like why you couldn't love me so much that putting down the meth and the heroin would be almost easy. it is delusional of me to think that? for me to really want to believe that if you loved me, putting all the things that stopped you from being a father to me down and away, would be, easy?

is that hard to understand?

I constantly sit here and question every single thing about my everyday life because of you dad. I literally saw your body in the ugliest and disgusting form I have ever seen, and I literally had nightmares about it because, like, that is MY dad. in my mind, I walked in thinking it's just my dad, it won't look that different, but how wrong could I have been?

When I walked into that room, my entire world changed and then shattered, there was nothing that could even slightly make me feel better, I even tried cracking some handy dandy dad jokes, they just destroyed me even more. 

Earlier, I wrote that last part shaking, crying, and literally wailing in my kitchen over how mad I was, but now I just feel drained, which is normally what happens after an aggressive breakdown like that. I don't feel better, but I feel worse. it's worse enough that I can almost feel nothing. 

My therapist says when I write things out, I'm coping, but sometimes I disagree, because I feel like I'm dwelling on the same things over and over again. It's almost triggering to me now because every time I think of you, dad, I see your body.

Cold, yellow, stiff, swollen, short, and skinny. 

You looked disgusting. 

When I walked into the room, I felt like I could throw up, not because of how sad I was, or how hard I was crying, but because of how absolutely horrendous you looked.

Those who will read this may think that what I'm saying is so unbelievably out of pocket, but I'm being honest. This is how I felt and that is what I saw, but I'm trying to show you, the reader, how much I hated it. This is my comfort space, and I don't know how else or who else to tell this too.

I write poems now dad, I wish I could've let you read one but your death kind of started it, so thank you? Is that wrong to thank a dead person? I don't think so, now it's just a waiting game to see how I can figure out when he says, "you're welcome."

Hopefully not in a weird paranormal way, I'd literally cleanse my house and send him to heaven or hell, whichever one he deserves. 

Yes, I'm still pissed off, but I don't think I would take back a single word I've said or written on here. It's real and it's how I feel on a regular basis.

I like to think of myself as a deep thinker, but I also think I may just have ADD and an obsessive personality, I will literally break down colors and how I portray them to you if you asked because I already have my entire argument for each color planned out and ready for whoever challenges me, but I'm getting off topic. 

What I'm trying to say here is that I like this, even if no one reads it. I enjoy putting my full list of negativities where maybe someone can read it, it's not that I'm complaining, it's more or less, me showing you that I am a person and that I feel too.

Honestly, reader, many of these parts will probably be about my dad or my own self-pity. I have moments where I hate myself and the world continuously, and other parts where I hate my dad, love my dad, hate how he died, or hate myself for not being there in time. 

If there's one thing that I want you to get from this is that, if you're grieving, your feelings of hate, regret, pain, and even self-pity are valid. These are feeling we all feel as a society when these awful scenarios we never imagined coming true, come true. 

For those who haven't gone through a similar circumstance, I hope you feel a sense of life. As in, love those around you a little more, even if they've demolished parts of you that you loved, I hated my dad with even blood cell in my body, I even wished he were to die. I said I wouldn't care but as I've said before, there was that hope I still had for him. The chance for him to be a dad to me someday. That is what destroyed me when he died, I lost my hope and had to come to the realization that life is shit, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. Over and over again you will suffer, sometimes more than other times, you will have to sit there and wallow in your own self-pity, your hatred for those causing this, or your depression from a situation. 

In a way, I hope you can read this and see me as someone close to you. 

My problem is wanting to help people I can't help, so if anything, I hope I can help you, even if you've deemed yourself impossible to fix. If there's one thing, I want from this, it's to stop someone from becoming my father. 

Thanks for reading, I hope you understand.