A long road
These are the times when I hate the fact that I self reflective.
I thought I was going to start this entry by reflecting on the year that I've had, but really all I can think about is the last couple of months and how fucking hard they've been.
I do things lately to distract myself from the pain that keeps ripping my heart apart whenever I think of my family. My grandfather.
My dad is a great help for that too. Just recently, he told me of my grandfather's last days on this planet. He told me of how Gram pa was trying to see everyone in the family before he died. He told me that the one thing I could have done to help was to be there.
It's just too bad that my father didn't keep me in the loop like he promised he would, or, for better or for worse, I would have flown home to say goodbye.
Yes, it times like the holidays that bring out so much of my pain.
But there is joy as well. I've tried so hard to make this the best Christmas I could have.
Something in me snapped, it seemed, when news of my grandfather's death became official. It's like, somehow, I've decided to really put into action all that crap I've been going on about regarding happiness and authenticity. I've spent a lot on gifts and cards and all that stuff, but I think I'm giving it all to the right fucking people. I even bought a pair of sneakers for a complete stranger as part of that giving tree thing they do my job for charity. That's not something I've done before either. It felt good. I've given Christmas cards to friends at work. I'm still thinking I might send one to my parents.
I could be doing all manner of awful things right now as I continue to mourn. But I'm not. I could be shaving my head and sharpening my sword cane. I could be screwing around on Marje or I could always take up smoking and drinking again. But none of those things will help me get through this heart wrenching pain. I hate that. And I hate my grandfather for dying, and I hate that I wasn't there to send him off. I hate my family, yet I love them too. It drives me so fucking crazy, knowing that I still care despite all that's happened.
I don't know where I'm going with this entry. I guess I'm feeling emotional. Emotions are not my enemy anymore, hard as that is for me to admit. I'm not angry anymore either. Not really. Just sad. Crying a lot at random moments, crying at the sappy scenes in movies, crying when it hurts. Like right now.
I thought I was going to start this entry by reflecting on the year that I've had, but really all I can think about is the last couple of months and how fucking hard they've been.
I do things lately to distract myself from the pain that keeps ripping my heart apart whenever I think of my family. My grandfather.
My dad is a great help for that too. Just recently, he told me of my grandfather's last days on this planet. He told me of how Gram pa was trying to see everyone in the family before he died. He told me that the one thing I could have done to help was to be there.
It's just too bad that my father didn't keep me in the loop like he promised he would, or, for better or for worse, I would have flown home to say goodbye.
Yes, it times like the holidays that bring out so much of my pain.
But there is joy as well. I've tried so hard to make this the best Christmas I could have.
Something in me snapped, it seemed, when news of my grandfather's death became official. It's like, somehow, I've decided to really put into action all that crap I've been going on about regarding happiness and authenticity. I've spent a lot on gifts and cards and all that stuff, but I think I'm giving it all to the right fucking people. I even bought a pair of sneakers for a complete stranger as part of that giving tree thing they do my job for charity. That's not something I've done before either. It felt good. I've given Christmas cards to friends at work. I'm still thinking I might send one to my parents.
I could be doing all manner of awful things right now as I continue to mourn. But I'm not. I could be shaving my head and sharpening my sword cane. I could be screwing around on Marje or I could always take up smoking and drinking again. But none of those things will help me get through this heart wrenching pain. I hate that. And I hate my grandfather for dying, and I hate that I wasn't there to send him off. I hate my family, yet I love them too. It drives me so fucking crazy, knowing that I still care despite all that's happened.
I don't know where I'm going with this entry. I guess I'm feeling emotional. Emotions are not my enemy anymore, hard as that is for me to admit. I'm not angry anymore either. Not really. Just sad. Crying a lot at random moments, crying at the sappy scenes in movies, crying when it hurts. Like right now.