I don’t often do this anymore, write on my blog in the middle of the night while the world around me sleeps, but I can feel the tears building and the emotions ebbing.
I don’t know where to begin, do I start at my fathers heart attack or how I managed to find someone like him? Do I begin with the tale of the last time I slept properly or do I discuss my fear of never going anywhere? I suppose it doesn’t matter where I start, I think I just need my story told.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently, been thinking about dying, but I’m learning to survive and those dark thoughts are behind me (or should be). They say you can always tell how depressed a person is by looking at them, you’ll notice it in their eyes and the way they move their body but truthfully, I think the most depressed are those that suffer in silence everyday and still manage to look happy. It’s 3am and the city lights are sparkling. It’s 3am and I’m awake again.
I feel like crying for a little while, holding onto my pillow and letting it all go - but I can’t, and I won’t. I sit here thinking about him, and our first date. I sit here thinking about my dad and if I’ll get to say good-bye. I’m sitting here trying to figure out where I belong and how do I get to where I need to be.
I think back to rezonance, and how we sat on the dam with the pizza box between us. I never expected him to see me again, and here we are, almost four months down the line.
I think back to last week Wednesday and finding out that my father had had a heart attack, and what that meant. I thought he was going to die, but instead, he lived - only to now know that he could have another one anytime and anywhere.
I think back to wanting this life where I achieved all my goals, how I was to become the person I wanted to be and needed to be but instead, here I am, wondering dazed and confused about how I will ever get there.
It’s getting more difficult each day to stop the thoughts from stealing the last few hours of sleep.