You would think…

That 3 months later I would be in a better place.  The facade that I use to get through the day has just become stronger.  Before you died, I could look a person in the face and pretend my life was easy breezy.  No one had any clue to my past… the father that beat mother, that beat me, that beat brother while mother held him, the almost kidnapping when I was 6 by the man that broke my nose the first time, the hatred and anger that developed between mother and I when she met the man you would technically call my stepfather.  No one knows what the stepfather put me through – I would rather my brothers have an easier home life than admit what he did to me.  In my blue eyes, people do not see the years of self-mutilation, the weeks in the psychiatric ward, the suicide attempt, the absolute hatred I have for myself.  Let’s face it -  if your mother hates you, then who the hell will love you?  And why should you love yourself?

I’ll take it back.  I no longer feel absolute hatred for myself.  That stopped a few years ago.  When I decided that I would rather gouge my eyes out than listen to my mother talk to me anymore.  Removing her from my life was an empowering decision.  I’m amazed that things since your death have been so peaceful.  They are distant, but that is for the best.  I am actually pretty impressed with the person I have become.  You taught me that there is no one better to be than myself.  And fuck everyone else.  I’m okay with being the black sheep of the family.  I am tattooed, visibly.  And wait until I get my tattoo for you – emblazoned on my chest.  Sometimes I like to kiss girls, they are soft and pretty.  I am studying Traditional Chinese Medicine, it makes more sense to me.  I listen to loud music, sing my heart out and drive at speeds that are potentially dangerous.  My mouth could offend a sailor, but I think I got that from you.  I like that I tell it like it is.  I have no shame.  And I have no regrets.  That’s a big one.  I had no regrets – until your death.

I could have been there more.  I should’ve been there more.  I took for granted that you would always be there at the other end of the phone.  STUPID, STUPID ME.  They called me and told me you were going to the hospital.  I should’ve gotten my ass to that hospital.  Instead I decided to wait it out for the night cus of the torrential downpour.  And now look at us.  You are gone and I am here.  I am here, fighting what feels like neverending tears.  Telling people that I am fine when I am not.  Looking away from the people that matter the most so I can compose myself before they see the tears in my eyes.  I am miserable… but you wouldn’t know it if you weren’t inside my head.  I can laugh, smile, tell jokes and make inappropriate passes constantly.  At least I hope I hide my sadness as well as I think I do. 

I miss you.  Each and every day.  I am having a hard time at the farm on the weekends.  I cannot go up to your room anymore.  I am regressing.  I think I’m better but I have realized I am not.  I made a call today, one that I didn’t want to make.  But it is time.  Therapy here I come. 

I know that I let a lot out in this blog.  A lot about my past.  I glossed over quite a few things.  I do not talk about them, but I decided this blog would be about honesty and who I am.  If you don’t like it, then move on.  If you want to leave me comments then feel free.