literature

Pieces of me.. (A journal entry)

Deviation Actions

PenNameBree-Z's avatar
Published:
82 Views

Literature Text

I feel it. The peace I find using my hands to create a bit of magic. Using them to portray a certain thought. A mere idea. A… Change… in this case, anyway… I'm amazed at what I see.

Damn i'm good.

It's nice to remember why I went to school. A reason besides my fathers constant… Badgering… Encouragement… Depending how I'm thinking of him at he time.

But now I remember. I remember the potential I was made to see in myself from the beginning. I remember the flow of a medium from a utensil. Expression through color. I remember the determination to get the idea exactly as it appears in my mind. I remember the awe in myself as I finally look at the big picture. The detail I see. The hours that I worked at it; and the frustration knowing it will only take others at a glance. A mere glance at something I bled out with the most powerful of passions…If you are not the creator, you don't see it. You can argue you do, but you don't. You don't see the power in the use of color. How creates the mood. You don't notice how each stroke is meticulously taken to portray a feeling. You don't notice the detail. You don't see the path traveled to create the end result. Some won't even see the subject in the right light. Sadly, but truly, every art is a matter of perspective. Each viewer, reader, contemplator, will take in information differently. Its all perspective.

I remember all of this now… I have never loved anything else about myself, except my ability to create. I can never be my father. I will never be half of the memorable person he was. I will never be the picture he always tried to get me to paint myself as. I can't be. No artist has the ability sculpt exactly what they want others to see…. My father couldn't expect me to turn out the way he wanted me shaped either… Even if he could have, he's left me to shape myself. He's gone. He died. And it's about time I started excepting that. Because blaming everything on our torn relationship and his death isn't going to make the pieces of my broken life fall into place.
I have to do that. I have to put myself back together. I've done it before and I can do it again:

-I did it when I moved away from my mom who couldn't stay Away from her job long enough to raise me and my sisters. Age 8 and I was always inside. Raising her kids, keeping house, trying to keep my grades up. I left and she couldn't even call to be a part of my life. I made a new life. I picked up the pieces, and put myself together again.

-I did it in my "new life" every time my father's wife would scream at me; beat me; and he would just stand there because I was the more forgiving one. I loved him more, and didn't fight her back. I just took it, and then I'd put myself together for school the next morning. I picked up the pieces, and put myself together again.

-I did it when the guy I thought loved me broke my heart over, and over, and I had to be the one to walk away. I picked up the pieces, and put myself together again.

-I did it when I was whisked away with my military "family" to Japan. Everything about that place was cold and dead, and I welcomed it. I wore black, and hung around a smoker who snuck me off campus during lunch to hang out with his underage drinking friends, and illegal drug buddies. My first kiss was with that same guy. A guy I had known for a total of two weeks. My rebellious stage ended when when my father was diagnosed with lymphoma. I picked up the pieces, and put myself together again.

-I did again, back in Texas as the rage between my stepmother and I grew, and she was questioned for child abuse because her own "best friend" made the call to save me. My stepmother never found out that detail, and always blamed me. My punishment (since physical damage was less of an option) was further hatred, and revoking of everything I was doing to stay sane. No notebooks. No journals. No painting. No walks. No music. I wasn't even allowed to see Cameron (who was my best friend, and would end up being one of the few people I trusted, or even talked to). She hated him because he stood up to her… for me… Something no one had ever dared to do before. School was again my safe haven. But I made it. I picked up the pieces, and put myself together again.

-I did it month after month on a cold hospital floor watching my father receive medicine that was supposed to make him better. It did more harm than good. It hurt him. It made him weak. Drip… Drip… Drip… Went the saline, chemo, and morphine. "scrrrrsh tap…. Scrrrrrrsh tap…. Scrrrrrrrch tap…" went the machines until the meds ran out: "beep beep beep….. Beep beep beep…. Beep beep beep" five minutes later an RN would show up to all too happily replace the bags. I Fucking hate hospitals… and every night I left that one looking as pale as my father's hospital room decor. I can't describe seeing him… My medical Air force father, a cancer patient in the very hospital he worked in. I was dying with him. Broken every night by images. And every morning before we went to see him, so he didn't see me in pain, I picked up the pieces, and put myself together again.

-I did it when I finally snapped, and screamed at my abuser, confronted my father about his lack of protection, and left them. Seven years of hell frozen over, and two months before the end of my senior year, I left for Oklahoma. For two lonely months I quietly studied in school, and then went back to Texas to graduate with my class as an honor student. That night marked a good moment in my life. I survived high school, and my "secret" fiancé ran away with me. However, that was also the last night I saw my father. Then things get harder…

We wrote sometimes, talked on the phone when his wife wasn't around. He found out about Cameron's move in with me, wasn't happy, but didn't disown me… He seemed proud of my going to college, and never ceased the pushing to a "real school"… The last time we spoke, He said he wouldn't show to my wedding if I married Cameron before I finished school. I never worked up the courage to tell him about our actual engagement before he died…

I wasn't there at the end. I hadn't been there because my stepmother told me I wasn't allowed to be there, claiming it was my fathers wish I stay in school. I had no way to disprove it, and so I had stayed. My mother offered to take me, he was my father, and I had every right to be there no matter what stepbitch said. My stepfather agreed, and even Cameron urged me to go be with my father. I had no way to prove my stepmother was telling the truth, and so it was tempting. However, I hated the idea of seeing him that way again. I wanted the happy memories to be some of my last, not what I would see there. Additionally, as I thought of my father, I realized even if those words hadn't come from my father, they would have if I asked him myself if I should be there. I always tried to hide it, but he knew I hated hospitals, and having me around his wife while he was in a coma would be the perfect opportunity for a long awaited explosion. Especially since she didn't want me there. So for the sake of my father being less worried about us killing each other, or me passing out while I was there, and allowing my grades to fall…. I decided to stay. But college… I was dramatically dropping grades…. And then they called… He wouldn't make it through the night…. I don't know how long I waited, crying, in Cam's arms before he fell asleep. Beating myself up and worrying if I had made the right choice. I spent hours more looking up the few medical terms that had been used to describe his condition. It really pissed me off that cancer wasn't even the problem. His weakened immune system was. The fucking medicine that Had "cured" him three fucking times, was the very reason his lungs couldn't handle a common mold we breath every day. Eventually I couldn't read words anymore, and the torment continued. In my heart I knew. I knew he was leaving me. I jumped from hating him for it after everything else I had been through, to begging for him not to leave me. I wasn't sure if I was talking to my father, or "my God but my feelings were generally the same in both cases. Hatred, and terror….

Then, in the midst do one of my fits, my heart suddenly screamed in my chest, and the pain was unbearable. I half worried I was having a heart attack as this lasted for several minutes before it suddenly ceased…. And then I just felt empty. I did not welcome it, but it was enough peace for me to glance at the clock, curl up on the floor, and fall to sleep…

I had only been asleep for thirty minutes when my phone rang, and I was given the news. My father had been dead for half an hour. To this day, I swear I felt him die… When I told Cam the news, he held me, and I only remember saying "I don't understand," and hearing Cam's reply before I passed out again:

"You never will,"

The worst part of his funeral was being around my stepmother, who cared very little about anything but the attention. It was hard to act like we got along when I was already crying inside. surrounded by family, and I still felt more alone. I did well at hiding it, until I saw him. They warned me not to. I hadn't seen him near the end…. But something told me I had too see him now. I need this. I needed to see he was gone. I would never be able to except it any other way… I was taken to see him. I was Silenced. Deadpan as It all flooded over me now. He wouldn't be able to walk me down the aisle even if I did finish school first (which I planned to do, so he would approve). I would never get to apologize for hurting him she I left. He and I would never make up the damage done by my stepmother. I would never quote movies with him again. I would never spend another holiday, birthday, or vacation with him. He would never see my first house, ride in my first car, hear of my first career… He would never be known by his grandchildren…. Never see me graduate college…. College just seemed pointless. He was my whole motivation for going. He was my hero. One of two people I trusted. Now he was gone… I don't cry often, and I've never cried like I did then.

The small lunch after the funeral sucked. Everyone else was over the hard grieving. My father was buried, and in peace. That wasn't good enough for me, and I isolated myself and subconsciously scolded them all for talking of other happy things. Countless amounts of people approached me to give condolences, and then stab me in the heart by sharing (again) that I looked exactly like my father. One older lady I didn't know talked with me for awhile, asking about my own life, which oddly enough helped helped me feel more alive. until she ruined it. "You really do just like him." I was darkly tempted to look up at her, grin, and say in my most chilling voice "You mean dead?". Instead I spared her.

I lost a lot of myself during the next few months. His death destroyed me. I ended up barely passing my classes that semester, dropping others so I wouldn't fail, and last semester, I did end up failing a class. I stop working, unofficially quitting my job. I stopped talking to people. I stopped going out. In fact I refused to go out. I was over sensative about eveything. My sleep schedule has never been the same, and when I do sleep, I have nightmares. I stopped enjoying things I used to love. I started listening to classical music. I have no idea how Cameron stayed with me, because I was not human even around him then, and it caused a lot of problems. When I inherited my share of my father's money, I started spending money online. When Cameron would confront me about the shopping habbits, I would snap that I never had anything I wanted when my father was alive, and that dad was giving me everything I could want through the money now. I started going on long walks, and not coming back for hours. Usually I went in the more dangerous parts of the neighborhood, hoping that a group of punk drunken teens would give me a reason to punch something. I was always sick, down, or having headaches. I didn't even check up on my family for a long time after the funeral.

It's just recently I've began to change again. Little bits at a time I feel a longing for who I was. I'm slowly socializing again. I stay off amazon unless I've talked with Cameron about something in particular I'm looking for. I have a fairly good amount of confidence about classes starting up again. I meet Cameron at work, and go out to the movies, and I still take walks, but usually during day … over all, I've started to feel better. Not completely, but better than I was. And now I'm creating again… And it's better than ever.

I have been so… Dark. So empty. Broken. I finally feel like I might be able to piece myself back together again. I just know, I can't keep living like I was. It's not healthy for me to be so shielded from everyone around me. I need to start trying to be alive again. Instead of just wishing I was.

It's time to wake up, and make it happen. I don't want to be empty anymore. I am not dead. I surrender to my past. I'm ready to pick up the pieces again, and create my future.
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In