(no subject)
I guess it’s time I finally make a ‘personal’ post and not dodge the question. For those that know me close, mainly Cloudy/Contrapositive, they know that I tend to dodge this area or not go into it an overly amount. I guess the reason I do this, is because I’ve been ‘programmed’ to do it for a good eight-nine years now, if not longer. I tend to draw attention elsewhere, that way no one really knows how cracked my armor is, or that I’m on my last leg.
I guess I’ve kind of been kidding myself, at least, trying not to think on it. I will get the good news out of the picture though. For that ‘dark’ deed I spoke of in previous entries. I was going to be an arsonist, because it was the only way out of the current situation that I was in. Someone else was going to do it on my behalf, burn our home, but I told them a strict no. If anyone was going to taint their hands, it would be me. There are reasons behind this, on why it was going to happen… I won’t go into them here, because it’s a different post (If you want to know, feel free to ask me and I will go into it). I also don’t want to bore people more than I already do. The good news is I’m going to be staying where I’m at, at least for now. While living with your mother/grand mother is not ideal for me, it’s all I have for now. Anyways, back on topic:
I’m sure I could go into an elaborate post about this, but I’m just going to be blunt with it. I looked in the morning this morning and realized that I still hate myself. It’s not that I’m huge in terms of weight, or ugly in appearance… I just hate parts about me and my past. I know that people have told me that I should just drop the past and move on, and that I shouldn’t bear something like this for as long as I already have. The truth of the matter is this: The actions that I have taken, I fully accept responsibility for. I will not justify my actions or play them off on youth. I screwed up and there is no way to make it right…
I hate the fact that my father, who could not move around, was alone because a thirteen-seventeen year old would not go out there with him as often as he should have and spent time with him. Instead, I became reclusive and remained in my room so that I could attend to my own needs. He was alone most of the evening, even though I was there, because I would not go out there and spend time with him, and he couldn’t get around without any help. What only makes me despise myself that much more is one specific event in my life, one that I’ll never forgive myself for regardless of what I’m told.
When I was about sixteen-seventeen, my father had developed a blood clot in his leg that could have broken loose and killed him. He was already battling with two types of terminal cancer and his very bones were deteriorating on him. They put him in the hospital so that they could put a device inside of him that would prevent the clot from going directly to his heart and killing him, incase it got free. It was on a weekend that they did this, so I was able to go to the hospital and be with him while it was being done. I’m sure it sounds good from there, the story of a family that came together, right?
It wasn’t. It was Friday night when all of the tension seemed to break loose. I had been given a bed by the nurses so that I could sleep on the floor. The only problem with this is that the bed would make a noise every time that I moved. Needless to say, at the time, I was not one that could lay still for very long and go to sleep. I had to get perfectly comfortable. Well, some things were said mainly about that, everyone’s nerves were shot, and the next day I decided to go home because I didn’t want to be a burden. I would have been home alone had I went, so needless to say I think my dad was worried about me.
What I learnt later on the day is what I’ll never forgive myself for. Before I had left, that afternoon with my grandmother and aunt to go home… My dad asked if I would stay with him, once, and I refused because I didn’t want to be a bother. He stated I wasn’t, and I now remember the look in his eyes when he asked. I don’t think I replied to it, and he simply just laid there and went to sleep or pretended to do so. Only he knows. Anyways, after I left, my mom had come to look for me. It seems that my dad had went into the bathroom and just started to sob. Now if you know my father, he was always the epitome of being tough, yet loving. You would never see the man down, until his last days.
That was not the only thing though. The only reason I learnt about this, is because he adamantly demanded that they release him from the hospital. The surgery happened that Friday night, when I was still there, and they wanted to keep him until Sunday/Monday to make sure that nothing went wrong with it. My dad wanted to be with me so much that he signed a waiver so they would release him, knowing the risks that he could very well die. He did it just so he could come home and be near his son. Keep in mind that I had not spent an overly amount of time with him, so this didn’t really do all that much moving when I was younger. Two years ago it really sunk in though. If I had just stayed, he would not have taken the risk he did. I’m sure some people will say that I should drop it or not feel the way I do about it, but that’s something I think I want to hold onto the rest of my life.
You want to know how it makes me feel? Well, I’m sitting here at working trying my hardest not to let my tears advance any. I guess they are tears of sadness, anger, and hatred all combined. While I’m not afraid to cry, I just prefer to do it in private venues so I don’t have people around me trying to ask: “Are you okay, etc.” When I cry, I prefer to be able to do it and then move on. While comfort is nice and all, I prefer the sincere kind.
I hate myself because deep down I was selfish and a bastard. Is that defining event something that inspired me down my current path? In ways, maybe it is. Perhaps it’s also the reason that I hold my life with so little regard. I mean, what value does my life have? I cannot let my father know that I was a fool and that I’m sorry. He passed away just three months before I graduated… Some say that is the only reason that he hung around as long as he did, with the cancer. He wanted to see me graduate. Well, he got his wish and I’m sure he saw me walk across that stage, though at the time it was meaningless to me.
Perhaps this is why I use to view death as a release, a place that I’ll finally find peace. It’s not though. What am I going to find in death? The only thing that I believe is waiting on me so far is my father and god. I would go into why I feel that way, but that’s another story for some other time. I don’t think I’m ready to yield my life, just yet. Despite the love I have for my father, he gave up in the end. He was ready and wanting to die, which I can understand. If one day, I am put into the same situation, I think I would rather it remain a secret that I have cancer or that I’m dying. I wouldn’t want to ask my family are they going to be okay if I died and was it okay if I did.
No, instead I would remain stoic and perhaps tell my other half, if there is one. Other than that, I would rather everyone else remain in the dark I think. I would rather people just go about their everyday life instead of suddenly changing because I am dying. Sure, it would mean enduring a lot of physical pain to hide it… That’s nothing new for me though. Perhaps my way of living would one day influence someone else to go out and have a good life, or to change.
I’m sure I could go on for some more, but I think that I’m going to stop here. I have some work to catch up on, and I don’t want to run the risk of crying anymore. :P
I don’t think that I’m ever going to try and drop this issue, but I am going to put it to rest. I’ve promised from that day and forward that I would never break any promise or do that again. I have yet to break a promise so hopefully it’s one that I can keep… Hope everyone has a good Friday and stay safe over the weekend if you go out, have plans, or do whatever.
I guess I’ve kind of been kidding myself, at least, trying not to think on it. I will get the good news out of the picture though. For that ‘dark’ deed I spoke of in previous entries. I was going to be an arsonist, because it was the only way out of the current situation that I was in. Someone else was going to do it on my behalf, burn our home, but I told them a strict no. If anyone was going to taint their hands, it would be me. There are reasons behind this, on why it was going to happen… I won’t go into them here, because it’s a different post (If you want to know, feel free to ask me and I will go into it). I also don’t want to bore people more than I already do. The good news is I’m going to be staying where I’m at, at least for now. While living with your mother/grand mother is not ideal for me, it’s all I have for now. Anyways, back on topic:
I’m sure I could go into an elaborate post about this, but I’m just going to be blunt with it. I looked in the morning this morning and realized that I still hate myself. It’s not that I’m huge in terms of weight, or ugly in appearance… I just hate parts about me and my past. I know that people have told me that I should just drop the past and move on, and that I shouldn’t bear something like this for as long as I already have. The truth of the matter is this: The actions that I have taken, I fully accept responsibility for. I will not justify my actions or play them off on youth. I screwed up and there is no way to make it right…
I hate the fact that my father, who could not move around, was alone because a thirteen-seventeen year old would not go out there with him as often as he should have and spent time with him. Instead, I became reclusive and remained in my room so that I could attend to my own needs. He was alone most of the evening, even though I was there, because I would not go out there and spend time with him, and he couldn’t get around without any help. What only makes me despise myself that much more is one specific event in my life, one that I’ll never forgive myself for regardless of what I’m told.
When I was about sixteen-seventeen, my father had developed a blood clot in his leg that could have broken loose and killed him. He was already battling with two types of terminal cancer and his very bones were deteriorating on him. They put him in the hospital so that they could put a device inside of him that would prevent the clot from going directly to his heart and killing him, incase it got free. It was on a weekend that they did this, so I was able to go to the hospital and be with him while it was being done. I’m sure it sounds good from there, the story of a family that came together, right?
It wasn’t. It was Friday night when all of the tension seemed to break loose. I had been given a bed by the nurses so that I could sleep on the floor. The only problem with this is that the bed would make a noise every time that I moved. Needless to say, at the time, I was not one that could lay still for very long and go to sleep. I had to get perfectly comfortable. Well, some things were said mainly about that, everyone’s nerves were shot, and the next day I decided to go home because I didn’t want to be a burden. I would have been home alone had I went, so needless to say I think my dad was worried about me.
What I learnt later on the day is what I’ll never forgive myself for. Before I had left, that afternoon with my grandmother and aunt to go home… My dad asked if I would stay with him, once, and I refused because I didn’t want to be a bother. He stated I wasn’t, and I now remember the look in his eyes when he asked. I don’t think I replied to it, and he simply just laid there and went to sleep or pretended to do so. Only he knows. Anyways, after I left, my mom had come to look for me. It seems that my dad had went into the bathroom and just started to sob. Now if you know my father, he was always the epitome of being tough, yet loving. You would never see the man down, until his last days.
That was not the only thing though. The only reason I learnt about this, is because he adamantly demanded that they release him from the hospital. The surgery happened that Friday night, when I was still there, and they wanted to keep him until Sunday/Monday to make sure that nothing went wrong with it. My dad wanted to be with me so much that he signed a waiver so they would release him, knowing the risks that he could very well die. He did it just so he could come home and be near his son. Keep in mind that I had not spent an overly amount of time with him, so this didn’t really do all that much moving when I was younger. Two years ago it really sunk in though. If I had just stayed, he would not have taken the risk he did. I’m sure some people will say that I should drop it or not feel the way I do about it, but that’s something I think I want to hold onto the rest of my life.
You want to know how it makes me feel? Well, I’m sitting here at working trying my hardest not to let my tears advance any. I guess they are tears of sadness, anger, and hatred all combined. While I’m not afraid to cry, I just prefer to do it in private venues so I don’t have people around me trying to ask: “Are you okay, etc.” When I cry, I prefer to be able to do it and then move on. While comfort is nice and all, I prefer the sincere kind.
I hate myself because deep down I was selfish and a bastard. Is that defining event something that inspired me down my current path? In ways, maybe it is. Perhaps it’s also the reason that I hold my life with so little regard. I mean, what value does my life have? I cannot let my father know that I was a fool and that I’m sorry. He passed away just three months before I graduated… Some say that is the only reason that he hung around as long as he did, with the cancer. He wanted to see me graduate. Well, he got his wish and I’m sure he saw me walk across that stage, though at the time it was meaningless to me.
Perhaps this is why I use to view death as a release, a place that I’ll finally find peace. It’s not though. What am I going to find in death? The only thing that I believe is waiting on me so far is my father and god. I would go into why I feel that way, but that’s another story for some other time. I don’t think I’m ready to yield my life, just yet. Despite the love I have for my father, he gave up in the end. He was ready and wanting to die, which I can understand. If one day, I am put into the same situation, I think I would rather it remain a secret that I have cancer or that I’m dying. I wouldn’t want to ask my family are they going to be okay if I died and was it okay if I did.
No, instead I would remain stoic and perhaps tell my other half, if there is one. Other than that, I would rather everyone else remain in the dark I think. I would rather people just go about their everyday life instead of suddenly changing because I am dying. Sure, it would mean enduring a lot of physical pain to hide it… That’s nothing new for me though. Perhaps my way of living would one day influence someone else to go out and have a good life, or to change.
I’m sure I could go on for some more, but I think that I’m going to stop here. I have some work to catch up on, and I don’t want to run the risk of crying anymore. :P
I don’t think that I’m ever going to try and drop this issue, but I am going to put it to rest. I’ve promised from that day and forward that I would never break any promise or do that again. I have yet to break a promise so hopefully it’s one that I can keep… Hope everyone has a good Friday and stay safe over the weekend if you go out, have plans, or do whatever.