I'm haunted, and not in the way I wish, I wish it was my mother that I felt around every corner--but maybe that would just be too much, would hurt too bad. So it's him. I am reminded of moments I had never wanted to forget, the perfect ones that now I wish had never happened. I miss him enough I cry, I have too much to cry over, and I'm so afraid each time that if I start I won't be able to stop. I want him so furiously it's painful to be awake. I want his arms, I want him to feel this, his daughter. I KNOW he must hate me. Oh God, why can't I hate him, I should for all that he's done, or rather all that he hasn't done. I just want someone to love me, because who is left to love me know that she's gone, and now him too. He used to kiss my tears, knowing the same pain that I felt watching her die, now I cry alone and without comfort. I try and try and yet I can't look anyone else, or think of any other man putting his hands on me, beyond all attempts of the mind, my body seems devoted. I want free of this. He's most likely drunk every night fucking a handful of good looking women, I doubt I'm much more than a passing thought, so why should he deserve these tears--he does not deserve this love, and I'm insane to be so intensely into this. And what of my daughter, what do I tell her someday? I don't want her to know of my pathetic mistakr, I don't want her to know that her father never loved her mother, never wanted her to be born.If he's never around will she miss him, or just feel an absence, everyone seems to think it matters, that children without fathers go to jail or end up pregnant, what do I do? What if it's true, what if he's already fucked up her life? Danm him, danm it, danm it!! He never knew his father, does he wish the same fate on his child? I knew I went against what he wanted in every sense, keeping her, but she's all I have left! Can't he understand that? How could he expect so much from me, how could expect me to go through another loss, how could he expect me to be so numb, or brave, or whatever it would have taken to do it? Does he not know how alone I am now? Oh...she's kicking now...Why is it some days I'm so strong and other's I am a shameful weeping mess, a useless heap hideing in this room that is not my own?
Dare I confess it...There are times, I feel it would be so much easier to die, I know in my heart my daughter is the only thing that keeps me alive, I'm weak and she saved me, I guess he saved me too in a way. If not for her I would have given up and followed my mother weeks ago. The truth in that is awful and sinks me in guilt. What life is this, I think, everything painfu I have risen above or more rather hidden below in the past few months, it sets in at times so angirly the crying is literally violent, its painful physically, that horrible fire that grows in my throat. No one knows, I dont show it, it's too dangerous now, and too embaressing. As I accomplish so many thingss and in everyone elses eyes I am this amazing young woman (whom they feel sorry for), in reality I am so foolish and confused. Afraid and still unwilling to accept the truth. What was that saying? "Acceptance is the only way out of hell". If only I could do that. What a fucking joke, what a life, hideing in this room, a strangers room, writing, screaming into this little book.It's only one in the afternoon and I'm praying sleep will come, in sleep I feel nothing, I can't die, but I can sleep.
My mother, what of her? No one prepares you for the harsh reality of death. It's so odd that there's just nothing now, I think I almost expected some heaven sent sign from her, that I'd see her again somehow...Too many movies lie to us, raise our expectations, and romantacize what is just purely awful. I miss her so much, so badly sometimes it's hard to breathe. It's emptiness, everything feels empty.It still makes me so angry and frustrates me that I didn't get to hear her voice again before she died, the cancer took that long before it took her. I miss talking with her late into the the night. God, how I took her for granted, I wonder still if she forgives me. I feel embaressed crying now, even though I'm alone, how strange is that? I crave comfort, I don't want sex, well maybe I do, but not as much as I just want to be kissed, held, loved--and all the reassurance that comes with those things. I think what cushioned the blow after she died, was his literal nearly heroic return (would have been actually heroic if it wasn't prison he was returning from), the very day after she died, and the nights that followed. I remember how he made me laugh, when I'd thought I would never laugh again. I love him because of those wonderful moments in time when he made me so happy. Those are the moments I cling to, stil, even now that those smiles have been stolen. I pray, or talk to myself, whatever you wanna call it, that I will make my daughter happy, and shelter her from pain--though I know to do that is impossible but I will try to do so as long as I can.
I am sorry to have brought such sad words to these pages. There is still hope, tomorrow is a new day.
Sunday, November 9 2003