It seems like a lifetime since I wrote my last post. So much has happened since then, I don't know where to begin... I suppose I'll start with tragedy, move on to confusion and unbalance (which is where I am now), and hope for some sort of happiness or clarity to be found in all this.
Last February, my dad was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer. At first, I didn't even call him. He had not been a significant part of my life since I had been about thirteen or so. We had a pretty rocky and hard headed relationship, primarily I guess, because we were so similar in our stubbornness and the way that we handle stress. There had been times in those fourteen years of distance that I had tried to reach out and build a relationship, but I grew quickly tired of trying to force him into something that he seemingly didn't want. When he and my mom divorced a few years ago, things seemed to get better. We saw him once a year at Denny's on Christmas, and received birthday cards and sometimes even a call. The distance didn't seem to bother us at this point, because we were already used to it. At some point in the year before he was diagnosed, he married again, without even a courtesy phone call to his children. Within a few months of his union, he realized that it had not been his smartest decision, and he literally ran away from his second wife. Unfortunately, they reunited again. I'm not sure when this reunion happened, but I assume it had everything to do with the cancer. Anyway, I was bitter when I heard through the grapevine that he had been diagnosed. I dug in with both heels and said that if he wasn't man enough to tell us himself, than he must not care if we knew. I struggled with the example that I had been setting for my younger brother and sister, but I just felt like I couldn't take the risk of being hurt anymore. Then it happened. I remember the moment vividly. I was washing my car, and suddenly I felt as if I was being slammed against the rocks by continuous waves of pain, loneliness, misunderstanding, grief, hopelessness, and helplessness. I had a breakdown at the car wash, and realized that my dad must have been feeling so scared and lost, and that if it was the last thing I did, I could reach out one more time. For about nine months, I had my daddy back. He told me that he wanted a relationship with his kids, but he had always been stupid in knowing how to go about having one. We talked on the phone and he had me in tears several times by saying things like he was proud of me, that I was beautiful, that he couldn't believe that he had such amazing children. Did I cry because he was dying? Nope. I cried because I had never heard those things from my father. I was an adult woman that had already been married and divorced because I couldn't recognize the warning signs of a boy in man's clothes. I said that I didn't need a man to dote on me, or shower me with affection, because I was independent and strong. In reality, I paid a lot more attention to my daddy's example than I should have. I thought passive-aggression and emotional abuse were normal interactions in male-female relationships. I certainly wasn't conscious of these thoughts, but they were there, none the less. We built some good memories in that last year, talking of books we had read, trips we'd been on, of intentions for a future that he wouldn't be here for.
During this time, I fell in love. I had met *Guy at work three days before he moved back to his hometown, three hours away. We exchanged social media information, and became distant friends. I met up with him and his girlfriend when they were in town, and had accepted the fact that we were just friends. About three months after my dad's diagnosis, I get a call from Guy. He's thinking of moving back to the area, and wondering if I could look some people up in the database at work. No problem, I say. I would do that for any friend. Guy starts calling and/or texting me everyday. He and his girlfriend had broken up amicably a few months before. We started building this beautiful, intelligent, funny relationship. I'd never been part of something that felt like equal footing. He wasn't asking me to change, he loved that I was independent, he liked taking part in dumb conversations between my sister and I. He even threatened to come take care of me because I wanted a milkshake while I had a cold. All these little things built to the point that they were big enough to knock down the massive walls that I had constructed around my heart. I couldn't wait for him to be here. He had pursued me, and I was caught. The last time I talked to Guy, we were making plans of scary movies, and the dinner that he wanted to cook for my sister and I. He would be here in a week's time. That week never came. He stopped talking to me as suddenly as he had started. The first few days of silence, I figured he was just super busy with last minute preparations, or that he had packed his phone by accident, all those little lies that you believe when your mind is trying to tell you that it's over. To this day, I don't know what happened. He didn't move. Every once in awhile he'll "like" one of my pictures or statuses, even though we haven't been friends since week two of the silent treatment. Guy's absence is something that I still struggle with.
The most recent events that have transpired are the fact that my dad's wife cut us out of the last three months of his life. She didn't even allow us to go to his funeral when he passed three weeks ago. I wonder what his thoughts were those last months. I pray that he knows the truth now, that no matter what, we always loved him. He is in a better place, but I'm struggling. I can't seem to regain balance. I've been avoiding my friends. I pretend that I'm happy, but most of it is farce. I feel hollow and fake almost all the time. I have a very real fear of never being able to trust anyone again. My best friends don't know that I've been crying myself to sleep and that most days, all I want to do is sleep. Nothing sounds fun now, it all feels like I'm just trying so hard to be me again, and I don't know how. Nothing that brought me joy in the past, is even slightly appealing now. I've cried the last two Sundays in church because I feel lost and drained like I've never felt before. I'm heartbroken on so many levels, it feels as if I may never heal. There's no way that I could get up in the morning without the relationship that I have with God. He is my rock, my shelter, and the only place that there is true rest for the weary. I feel like that relationship is strained now as well, because I don't have the words. I have no words to express the pain that I'm feeling right now. I feel alone and pointless. I just want to be me again.
