“Let’s go out somewhere.” he’d say sometimes, usually on Sundays.
“Where?” I’d say back, too concerned with missing an episode of All That to care that my father wanted to take me somewhere.
“Let’s go.” he’d keep saying in a question-like tone but I always knew I had no choice.
I’d take a few angry, deep breaths. Roll my eyes so hard that they’d hurt for the next hour. “WHYYYYYYYY MUST THIS MAN TORTURE ME!!!?” I’d think inside my head as I got dressed looking forward to another boring night. Why couldn’t my brother go instead? Or at least join us so I could have someone to talk to?
“Where are we goooooing?” I’d ask, desperately, even though I always sort of knew.
“Out” is all he’d say and it drove me mad.
My poor father. Worked every day and almost every hour to give us an okay life. Worked until he had no hair and eventually no body fat. My poor father had to beg me to spend time with him, sometimes. I was an awful, angry teenage human.
My poor father didn’t know where to take me, I’m guessing, because we’d always end up at a casino or we’d take walks along the beach. The thing about these outings was that I always dreaded them but when I was actually in the moment I didn’t mind one bit. The nights usually ended with the both of us feeling rather happy and fulfilled. I knew my dad cherished those moments more than I could understand at the time and with time I realized how important it was for me to be easier on him.
Now I sit and think of those times when I’d be dragged to the casino, the same one I sat at alone tonight because I had a good feeling. And the good feeling won me $25 bucks and so I thought of my father. I thought of his big smile and the way he says “Alriiiight!” when cheering someone on.
I remember impatiently waiting for him to finish gambling because I hated it. I was so jealous of how easy it was for him to give away his money once in a while and that it was so hard for me to get any out of him ever.
And all I can think of right now is how much I wish I could get him on a plane, fly him to me and spend the day with him doing all of the things I used to hate.
“Let’s go out somewhere.” he’d say sometimes, usually on Sundays.
Things are slowly getting better. I go through cycles every day of feeling bad about myself for having such a mediocre job, not knowing how in the world I will ever get out of this monetary rut I’ve been in for so long. Then I feel like I should be grateful for having ~any~ job, no matter how overqualified I am for the position. Also, working at a sub shop takes me back to the days only a year ago when my father owned a Quiznos and it took so much out of me to help him. I clean tables and I wash dishes in the exact way I would at Quiznos but back then I was so angry. Working with my dad was never easy which is why he only employed a few people at a time which, obviously, had to do with why the business failed, because nothing anyone ever did was good enough or up to his standards (flashback: his reaction to everything I’ve ever done in my entire life) so of course it was rough for me. But now, I work for another company doing the same thing except less managing and less free food whenever I want it. And I get sad because the work is so easy and I resent myself for being such a fucking princess bitch and not giving 100% when my dad so badly needed me. I should have tried harder. I should have been there when he was desperate for help. Going back and forth between such extreme feelings has me so mentally and emotionally tired.
Seeing someone, especially a member of your immediate family, wasting their life and literally fading away from reality more and more every day rips your insides apart like nothing else you could ever imagine. A feeling no romantic heartache could beat, a feeling no other kind of sadness could ever replace.
I remember being an angsty middle and highschooler and all I could do to avoid my parents constant yelling was to hide in my room listening to Kittie or Blink 182 or System of a Down and eventually Dashboard Confessional really loud, memorizing and analyzing every line to drown everything else out. The yelling outside of my room and the reeling inside of my head haunted me and all I could do was hide.
Now, there is less noise but more reminders. I walk in and within seconds, no matter how happy I am, everything turns to shit but this time I have no room of my own to hide in. Just thoughts that slowly lead me to think maybe I’d be better off sleeping on the floor of my moms walk in closet.
I remember the feeling quite vividly. Or, more appropriately, the lack of feeling in my toes. Grishko’s. Size 8. Fitting my feet inside the narrowest space possible. And the first time I got up on pointe, rising up on my toes with the hard block under them, holding them in place. Bruises and blisters. I don’t remember bandaids though. They would just slide off while I was dancing. I remember not feeling my feet but still having to get on pointe to do relevés and plies. The first time I got my pirouette down. Then I could do two in a row. And three. Until I finally accomplished fouettes on pointe. I think I cried. After every class we’d all go up one by one and see how many we could do. The most I did was ten and it was probably the proudest moment of my life. Not graduating College but doing ten fouettes on pointe. It was the most beautiful thing my body has ever done. I’d trade in the daintiness of my feet any day to be able to do ten fouettes every day. I know I still could if I practiced…a lot. So maybe I’ll be proud again someday.
Sitting here trying to figure out how a human being could be as good as my boyfriend is to me and how it is possible for my heart to be this happy and full of love and I just want to make him breakfast every morning and make sure his cup of coffee is always full.
I just wrote a poem. I just wrote a poem and quickly erased it because as soon as I read it the tenth time it began to sound ugly to me. This is the feeling I am at war with every time I write anything lately. Nothing is ever good enough after a few times reading it. Like when you repeat a word too much or write it out a hundred times it starts to look unfamiliar and more foreign every second.
I want a place to live but I don’t have one. I want a home. I imagine home isn’t a place with wooden floors, marble countertops and an island in the middle of the kitchen. No, not yet. Home smells like fresh flowers and a hint of pine. Home is where I can set my record player on the floor, not too far from the mattress that also lies on the floor, so I can play songs that’ll wake us in the morning right before I pour a glass of orange juice. Home is simple and warm — comfortable. A place where you can close your eyes and smile because it’s what you’ve always wanted. How you’ve always wanted to feel. Where you’ve always wanted to be.
The trouble with caring so much about someone and fully enjoying their company is that when they leave you feel sort of empty. You look for them and suddenly they’re not there and you pout for a minute and then feel a bit pathetic but then realize that it’s okay. It’s okay to fall for someone so hard that your heart feels heavy when they’re not around. And it’s totally irrational to expect them to be around all of the time or even a lot of the time because we all have things to do and lives and blah blah blah. But the thing is- right now, other than applying for every job on the fucking planet that I’m qualified for and not getting any calls or e-mails back and crying about it every day I don’t have much else to do. And that’s what’s pathetic. Not that I wish I could be around him all of the time, but that when I’m not around him all I want to do is watch The Office and binge eat until my stomach hurts.
I go back and forth between suffering from intense nausea to feeling like I’m starving but rarely have enough energy to figure out what to eat. I get headaches every day. I have zero motivation. I practically have to beg most of my friends to hang out with me and even then it rarely happens. I’m not looking for a pity party, let’s get that straight, because I know full well that this is all self induced, but it still needs to be addressed. I need to get my head straight, save tons of money, get the fuck out of here and never look back. Because fuck everything but my own happiness and to be completely honest..I hate what I’ve become and that is a pathetic feeling I promised I would never ever let myself have for longer than I could help it…so…I’m done.
Te veo y siento en todo. Te veo en fotos, en los arboles, las flores, la nieve, y en los ojos de la gente que me miran con ojos que no son tuyos, los cuales no me importan ver. Te siento cuando me lavo la cara, cuando miro mis manos, solitas y tristes. Te huelo en el cafe y en las almendras. Pienso en ti cuando me levanto con las intenciones de no pensar en nada. No quiero ver tus manos secas, tu pelo mojado, y tus pies sobresaliendose de las sabanas. Me quiero olvidar de tu voz y de tus palabras. De la sensaccion de amor que me hiciste sentir. Me torturo cuando pienso en tu ropa y peor- en tu risa.
Y ahora, siento mi pecho aplastado. Para revivir, tengo que respirar profundo. Lo mas profundo que pueda..hasta la proxima vez que aparescas.
Been trying to swim through the waves of sadness and emptiness I’ve been feeling on the daily for what seems like years. But these moments when I can feel the goosebumps protruding from my skin, when I can feel the pit of my stomach form knots, these are the moments I realize I am human and all I can tell myself is “it’s okay to feel” and don’t ever let anyone convince you otherwise.
One of my favorite patients of ours is a 14 year old boy with Batten disease- which is a rare, neurodegenerative disorder that starts in childhood. At about 5 years of age he turned blind and since then has been deteriorating health-wise, as expected with his disease. He sits in a wheel chair and comes in for physical and occupational therapy. He comes in the mornings 3 times a week and I have a love/hate relationship with seeing him. I love it when I look at the positives of the situation. He is always surrounded by love. His mother dedicates her life to him (as well as taking care of 2 younger boys) and brings him to therapy every week. I often do her favors because I empathize with her situation. I’ll make her copies, help her with technical computer things she doesn’t understand and pretty much do anything she needs help with when I can. I love when he’s here because all the therapists sing to him and I can hear him laughing in the back. I don’t work with him directly, but there have been a few occasions where the therapists need help putting him back into his wheelchair so they call me over. Doing things like this helps me get thorough otherwise shitty work days. I always make sure to say “HI!” and “BYE!” to him and although I’m sure he has no idea who I am- I know he recognizes my voice and every time I greet him I hope that it’s a comforting sound for him to hear.
I am a mess. I wait until the last minute to do important things. I procrastinate. I am not always organized. But we are all guilty (minus those *few* exceptions) of all of this or at least one and these imperfections bring us together without realizing it. But what sets us apart are the good parts about ourselves. The good things we do for others and how we treat others. I’m trying to stop dwelling on the bad things about myself and look at the “good” things. I am a caring person. Sometimes too caring. But there are times when I slip and I seem like the most careless person in the world. This happens when I get drained or just too stoned. But most of the time I will do anything for anyone.
My dad and I went to Walmart together the other day and he told me the nicest story I’ve heard in a while. He owns a Quiznos in our town and is basically always there. He’s generally a reeeeally nice guy unless you’re complicated because so is he but he just thinks you are and gets annoyed easily sometimes. But most of the time he cracks jokes and gives out coupons and is smiling.
Apparently there was a homeless man that passed by the store and my dad noticed that the shoes this guy was wearing were really old and broken. He told the man he would buy him a new pair of shoes if he came back the next day. So that day my dad went (to Walmart i’m assuming) and bought him shoes. The next day the man showed up and my dad gave him the shoes. He then started talking about how bad he felt that the guys shoes were in such awful condition and when he described this guy stepping into the shoes and jumping around in them happily my dad had this look on his face of pure, raw emotion that he rarely shows. A moment where he’s somehow happy and sad at the same time. He shows this look when he talks about some family members too, I have recently noticed. So- although my father may treat me horrendously sometimes and not understand anything about me really, I should try to focus on the good parts of him and not the negative things that I can never, ever change. Because let’s be serious- if I’m not letting him change me… a 23 year old, how can I expect to change anything about this 56 year old man?
Every Friday at work I get sad because these 3 foster kids come in to receive therapy and every Friday I think to myself “I’d be a better foster parent than these people” and mind you, I’m a 23 year old that still lives with her parents…
These kids come in looking pissed and leave looking like they just spent the day at Disney World. Last week we had a birthday and the kids had cake and panettone and one of the foster kids goes “I love this place, you guys have the coolest stuff!” I wish I could help them- but for now all I can do is hug them and ask them about their day and give them the best stickers I have in my drawer.