Visiting Hours

A lot has happened recently, most of which has taken just about everything I have to give. I have been drained, I have felt like a monster and a horrible person and like I failed. I am a rubber band that just kept being tugged at until it eventually snapped.

I’m tired. So very, very tired. In a lot of ways, I am holding on by the skin of my teeth. There is only so much I am equipped to handle all at once. Now, I may be strong and I may be resilient, but that doesn’t make me invincible. It doesn’t mean I can’t feel pain or frustration or anger. It doesn’t keep me from shattering like glass.

He died four years ago today. It’s been four whole years of missing him and wishing I could have had more time. Four years of hating him for abandoning me and at the same time hating myself for not being able to see the pain in his eyes and the demons that had invaded his body. Four years of hiding my pain from those closet to me because I didn’t want to be a burden. If you’ve never witnessed your mother resort to tears because she can smell the depression on your breath, then consider yourself lucky.

The truth is, the more the days linger on, the more I wish he was here. Doesn’t matter if it’s a phone call away or a train away, anything would suffice. I watch the other kids around me, listen to them speak and it makes me want to curl into a ball and exhaust my lungs. It makes me want to dial up the universe and scream at them for doing this to me, for forcing me to survive all this shit. It is one thing after the next, weighing me down until I break. But then I still somehow must continue on as if I’m not an absolute mess of a human.

Losing a parent is like losing pieces of yourself and realizing that most are lost forever. A few can be retrieved, but the majority are simply too far out of reach. Losing a parent is a pain that I wouldn’t wish on everyone because how can I fathom that knowing what comes along with it? I’d have to be heartless to do that.

However, the person I have become, I happen to really like. She’s more mature. More wise. Her heart is more empathetic and she feels more deeply for those around her. She’s stronger. Tougher. She knows what it’s like to go to hell and come back. She has grown into a person I never could have imagined.

I didn’t want to become her four years ago because she was forged out of profound sadness and despair and I didn’t want to feel that way anymore. And felt like if I became her, he would disappear. Unlike who I used to be, he didn’t help create this new version of myself. I was no longer a product of my parents, I was now a product of own resilience.

My strength is an armor I wear to protect myself. I know that no matter what may happen, I’ll figure out a way to get through it. Maybe I’ll fall apart or unravel a bit, but it won’t break me. It can’t break me because I’ve made it impossible for it to do so.

The biggest thing I have learned these past four years is that I have the ability to survive just about anything. Sure, I sweat the small stuff, which I guess could be classified as a flaw of mine, but deep down I know I’ll be okay. Maybe not in the moment, but in time.

Which is exactly how I know that the sadness I have been feeling, and the tears that have been shed and soaked my pillow, won’t last. I recently told someone that the “waves” will always come, but they will also always go. They don’t last forever.