Damaged

Damage 

Silence. It was worse than anything I had imagined. The yelling, the questioning, I think I'd prefer that to this. There he sat, reminding me of the tide retreating into itself before the wave, no, tsunami takes form, destroying everything in its path. The silence continued until I thought that it would never end but finally he said, "I'm sorry". He's sorry? For what? He didn't do anything, but maybe that's the point. 

He's sorry he wasn't there when I felt I needed him. 

He's sorry he wasn't there to make sure I didn't go chasing love. 

He's sorry that he wasn't more involved before this all started. 

He's sorry he wasn't there when I felt so alone. 

He's sorry he wasn't there when I made that first slice in my skin. 

He's sorry he wasn't there to stop me. 

"Dad, that's not why I'm telling you this. I just.." 

How do I tell him I am out of options without telling him that he's the last one I choose? That the truth is, I didn't want him to know at all? 

"...don't know what to do anymore. I tried dealing with it, but I feel so far gone." I say, the sentence fading out as if to represent how I have the last few years. More silence. He stares down at the countertop like it holds the answers we've both been looking for. I decide to stare too. I'm not sure how much time passes before he finally decides to ask, "How was I supposed to know?" 

I want to say when your social butterfly was not so social anymore. I want to say that the signs were there, how could you not know? I want to say that if I wasn't so afraid of your judgement, I would have told you myself. But I don't, instead I lie. 

"I don't know" I whisper, glancing down at my hands. It is now that I see the pain in his eyes as he looks at his little girl so lost in sadness and he didn't even notice. 

I want to hug him. I want to tell him it's okay, but I don't think it is. We accept the fact that our parents will damage us, but we do not think about if we will damage our parents. I just did. I'm not sure if there was something I could have done differently. I'm not sure if I should have told him or not. But I am sure that this is better than finding his little girl's body next to an empty bottle of pills. 

The conversation doesn't last much longer. He asks if there is anything he can do. I reply with a list much smaller than he'd be satisfied with, but he accepts it nonetheless. I don't know where we'll go from here, but hopefully it's somewhere less damaging. 

It was you who made me fall in love with writing again, like being locked inside for so long and finally walking out, remembering what I had been missing. The birds and grass and words and phrases, I recall them like I can recall a part of me that I allowed to get stripped away by someone who could not even comprehend its worth. But you, you brought back the spark in my eyes, the skip in my step, the parts of my myself that I thought were lost in my childhood so deep within I had given up on finding them. 

Do you know how much I wanted to find them again? 

I remember staring at black pages and words that would so easily come to mind had vanished. I remember reading books and words that used to spring from the pages would lay flat and meaningless. I remember looking at my piano and asking what is the point, no one will hear it anyway, no one will care. 

Why didn't I care? 

You see with you, I am picking up the pieces that he tore apart and I hate to even mention him but maybe you should know the shattered state I was in when you found me; part of me gone, others ripped, and some I could not even recognize.

It was you who made me fall in love with writing again. I can't explain how but suddenly you came along and I remembered that I love being barefoot and having late night talks about all the things that run though my head instead of pretending they're not there. 

You don't pretend they're not there. 

I think you are more myself than I am because the more I am around you, the more I see who I am, or at least who I used to be. I dreamt for nights on end about getting her back, tossing and turning for hours wondering where I went wrong. This girl that I am is not who I know. This woman I have become is so foreign to me that I do not know her favorite color, much less who she wants to be. This girl that I was, she used to be mine, but you are giving her back to me like you knew her all alone. 

You made me fall in love with writing again. 

For this I can never repay you. 

For this I hope I can be good enough. 

For this I will love you forever. 

How did you do that?

I said the moon was pretty

but you said that I was beautiful

and I think I actually believed you

because now when I see the moon

it is I who feels pretty. 

The mood is a shiny rock, going in circles

and I am so much more

Every song reminds me of you 

"Sometimes peace is better than being right"

They say that sometimes the argument isn't worth having and it's better not to say anything. 

No. It's not. 

I spent a year staying quiet and it only got me places I never want to see again. 

This is goodbye

Dear past lover,

I am sorry. 

I am sorry that you had to waste your time on me. 

I'm sorry for all the mistakes I made because I will admit that I was part of the problem. 

I'm sorry that honesty is not my best policy and that being truthful with those closest to me will never be my strength. 

What I will not apologize for is not trying hard enough because I did try my best. 

I tried to bite my lip and do what was best for you, always. 

I tried to let you be yourself and not hold you back, but in letting you fly I ended up being your launching platform. 

I was not here to only push you off so you could come back in the night to tell of the adventures I was not allowed to have. 

I too wish to fly. 

You should know that I have not said anything untrue about you to anyone, but maybe you could consider that it was you, not me, that made everyone believe that you were to blame. 

You will miss me. 

Know that it is okay to miss me, but it is not okay to want me back. 

You see, to get stuck trying to desperately hold on to something already gone is maddening

and I am already gone.

Missing me is normal, but I want and need you to move on. 

Do what makes you happy and figure out who you are and who you want to be. 

I do not wish to erase you. 

If I did that, I would be erasing part of myself and I love who I am becoming. 

I know you will never admit that you were wrong and that's okay. 

But you were. 

You say I threw away everything for someone else. 

I think you misunderstand. 

I did not leave because I desired somewhere different. 

I left because I could no longer stay. 

I did not know where I was to go and still don't. 

I also know that you will never understand or maybe accept this. 

I know you were happy. You see, that was always my goal. 

The problem was never your happiness though. 

Here is what you need to know. 

I meant everything I said. 

Everything. 

You must learn to become a man and take responsibility for what you do and even more than that, take steps to change. 

You will one day meet someone else who will make you feel the same way that I did. 

Treat her better. 

Think about your actions. 

Do not get comfortable. 

Do what makes her feel loved because no amount of flowers can replace late night talks.

Listen to her. 

Really listen. 

Do not get distracted because you have to chase what you want. 

Know that it is okay to forget me. 

It is okay to forget the memories we have. 

Years from now you won't feel how you feel now. 

It will be okay. 

I want the best for you.

I want you to become a great man and I am sorry I will not be there to see it.

Be happy. 

Move on with your life and enjoy it.

Be careful.

Goodbye

I have learned this about myself

I have this journal that I have been writing quotes in since I was 14. I am finally close to filling the entire book, front to back. There are so many quotes that I can almost get lost in them. I always imagined how it would feel once I finally filled the entire book with all my factorite quotes that speak to my soul. Now that it is almost full, I have realized something.

Those words are not mine, even if I wrote them with my own hand. They do not say much about me. What they do say is how lazy I am. I have filled page after page with words that are not my own in an effort of learn about myself. All I have learned is I take shortcuts and I care too much about what others think of me. I am afraid to speak my mind. Even writing this I fear that someone will read this, judging me for the stupidity of my actions. I am afraid. This is what I will change this year.

I will be original.
I will speak my mind.
I will be brave in my effort to write apologetically.