It’s been 11 or so months since I’ve posted or even looked at this blog. I’m my mother’s daughter in many ways, including my battle with depression. I was already fragile when we started this blog last year and I thought I was ready to relive those moments before and following the death of two important people in our lives. I wasn’t. I fell further deeper into the rabbit hole of depression. I put on my depression shield with every burger and donut I stuffed into my mouth. Thirty pounds of depression shield later and I’m still struggling. I’m doing better, but it’s a day to day thing.
I actually had a few really great days in a row last week. I didn’t feel like I was walking with my head in a fish bowl. I felt in control of my emotional reactions and even donned a genuine smile or two. Then Thursday the 13th I woke up thinking about how Saturday the 15th was coming up (the anniversary our dad died) and (this is stupid) what I would say on my FB status that day. I started thinking about what’s happened in my life over the last 13 years.
In no particular order here are all the things that immediately came to mind:
I was in foster care for 9 months (or so) with two different families
I got my second and third ear piercings
I got my nose pierced
I got two tattoos
I dyed part of my hair purple, blue and let that fade to green
I developed an eating disorder
I kicked that eating disorder’s ass a few years later
I traveled to Australia, Tahiti, New Zealand, Ireland (4 times), Puerto Rico (3 times), Canada, England, Mexico
I graduated from High School
I went to college
I dropped out of college
I reinstated in college
I then failed out of college
I started an associate’s degree and then I dropped out of that too
I eventually went to night school at Harvard to finish up my bachelor’s degree
I moved to Boston
In fact, I have moved a total of 8 times in the 6 yrs I have lived in the greater Boston area and a total of 14 (or 15) times in 13 years.
Lost my best friend/ mother to cancer
Said good bye to my other best friend, the family dog, Juliet
I walked in the Avon breast cancer walk
I was diagnosed with PCOS
I was diagnosed with Endometriosis
I had my first surgery (for the condition above)
I fell in love for the first time
I had my heart broken for the first time
I fell in like a few times before meeting the love of my life
I am now engaged to this person, we’ll call him X in this blog (and sometimes in real life)
So here’s where thinking about 13 years with out my dad made me spiral back into the darkness. This is a big secret, one I haven’t even told my sisters. Are you ready for this? it’s a doozy. Here goes nothing….. I DON’T MISS HIM. See? I’m a terrible person, right? I mean, who doesn’t miss their father?! I guess I miss the idea of a father, but I didn’t have a relationship that I would feel comfortable saying I miss. I wish I had the relationship my dad and sisters had, but I didn’t. We fought a lot, and something it got physical. I openly and aggressively opposed him and most of the time for no good reason. Yet, I craved his praise and recognition. But we didn’t have anything in common: I didn’t like fishing, I didn’t like cars, I didn’t get his jokes, and, generally speaking, I was usually on his bad side so I didn’t get a lot of I-love-yous or hugs. The only thing that I did that seemed to please him was my academic achievements. Although, that became expected of me instead and I rarely received the praise I so desperately desired. The weeks before he died we fought, or rather I fought with him and he attempted to yell at me through his impaired speech (it’s possible he had mini-strokes in his sleep that affected his speech and motor skills). I said horrible things like, “I wish you would hurry up and die,” and, “I hate you.”
On my 15th birthday I came home to an empty house because he was admitted back into the hospital for a blood transfusion and as far as I remember, no one contacted me to tell me. The next day was supposed to be my Quinceanera at the local Roman Catholic Church. Neither of my parents were came. I’ve never felt less important than I did that day. Selfish I know. It’s embarrassing to think of that now. Others are quick to remind me that I was only 15. That’s how 15 yr olds think/ act. Well not every 15 yr old was raised by my parents and that was certainly not acceptable behavior. I was angry at him. I resented him. Sometimes, I did hate him. I carry that guilt in my heart and it’s heavy, and did I mention I’m 30lbs heavier than I was last year? That’s not muscle weight. That guilt is hard to carry. But the worst part about losing my dad at that time is that I never got a chance to redeem myself. Our relationship never got to come full circle.
I guess part of me understands that he pushed me like he did to make me a better person, a hard worker, and to not take things for granted, but it doesn’t change how I felt; unloved at times and overlooked. I’m 28 yrs old now and I still crave that approval. I still miss the strong guidance his presence had in our lives. I miss his essence. I grieve for a relationship I never got.
I make no promises about my consistency on this blog. I’ll do what I can. I hope you can understand that.
Flinche, over and out.
Flaca, Flinche Y Rubia 