I've been so afraid of death. I wonder if my dad was too. No one knew when he took his last breath. There was a twelve hour frame in which it could have been. My mom and I were the last people to see his body. His face was yellow...and a sickly pale. I wanted to kiss his forehead and say goodbye...but I didn't want to feel his cold, dead skin under my lips for the last time...we knew it was coming, that his liver was giving up. But none of us knew it would be this rough. It was too soon for him to leave. A 42 year old with broken dreams. Before he died, I was having terrible panic attacks about death...I could feel it's cold skinny fingers clutching my chest. I ignored it because I didn't think it meant anything. But what if that was my soul telling me he was already dying. The last time I responded to him, I was mad. The last time he texted me, I didn't text back. I don't know what to say when others say "sorry" or "is there anything I can do" because no. There isn't anything you can do that would bring him back. He was supposed to watch me get married, tease my kids, and see me graduate...but now he won't...he won't get the chance to watch his baby girl grow up.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of a depressed teen.
Short StoryContains depression, suicidal thoughts, self-harm references, and my strong opinions about everything I'm angry about at the time of which I write each chapter. This is just how I feel my life is going right now.
