I was supposed to call my dad, the day he decided he was done. It was 27 years ago tomorrow; Easter morning that year. I don't remember who, but a lady at the funeral told me that he was in a hurry tom get home that day to take my call. She meant it to show that I was important to him, but it made me feel worse - I never called. I keep picturing the disappointment on his face, in his heart, how he must have felt, thinking I didn't care enough to call him before he left. I wonder what he wanted to say to me, if anything; maybe he just wanted to hear my voice again, I don't know. Obviously, I'll never know.
I feel like I'm leading his life now - divorced, single, introverted, doing nothing but work & come home, go out to the same restaurants for meals constantly, try to work out sometimes, fight against the various indulgences that can numb the pain. He only dated 2-3 women after his divorce, and only one was for any length of time, yet even that didn't last more than a year or two. He was always alone when not at work or the bar. He used to party with my cousin & some classmates of mine. All of this parallels my current life, and it feels like a two ton anchor on my heart.
I had a mini- panic attack the other day while reading up on retirement & 401k advice. It's getting real now - It may be decades away, but I'm to the point where I have to focus on retirement, which in my mind means my life is almost over, and it almost made me cry. All of that lost time, all those years of wasted emotion, of wasted energy, only to arrive at the emptiness that is my current life.
How can I feel like not being here anymore would be preferable to the constant hollow ache I feel daily, and yet be almost terrified at it all being over? How can I want to live forever so I can see what happens, and yet feel like I can't take any more of this?
This is why I don't write much anymore, and why I delete things. Nobody wants to hear it, especially when I've been feeling it and saying it for so many years. I'm like a broken record, and there comes a point where nobody can have enough patience to be supportive any more. This is why I keep things to myself. I know I'm at a low point right now, and I know it'll likely turn around eventually, but truthfully, there are only three possible outcomes, and none of them will be influenced much by external forces. How I cope, how I handle things is entirely up to me.
Why can't I be normal? According to my old psychiatrist, I've been dealing with clinical depression since I was in single digits. Can you imagine that, being 7-8 years old & knowing already how alone you are in the world? I've been burdened with this for years longer than my entire adult life, for decades, and I'm absolutely dead tired of the constant hopelessness.
I don't want to be gone, because... what if? I also don't want to try anymore, for the same reason.
12:48 p.m. - 2017-04-14
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