Replacing Emptiness: 9/2007

It has taken six painstaking years to come to a realization that what has happened has happened, and the distinct loss of everything I once encompassed that has made my life quite unbearable, will continue to resonate with each undying breath I take. Still, I sit in what was once my element, my sanctuary, and as the utter sadness of time passed wraps itself around my aching corpse, I close my eyes and drift away to that moment when my life came tumbling down once and for all. I see through the blinds of the shattered window of what was once my broken home. I see him walk into my room on that sweet summer day, a few days before the 12th year my reign as the supreme outcast began. I sat upon my bed, composed and fearful, as he sat down beside me, and gently moved aside my blue three-ring binder and a pack of blue Bic pens. As "Stand By Me" by Mr. King played on my Cd player and the tears began to stream down my tarnished face, My father, the man who had helped bring me into this world withholding a heart full of compassion and a piece of mind which had been fueled by an abusive past, decided to take the spirit within my soul, which he had tried to slay repeatedly throughout the years, and bestow upon it a fond farewell. My beautiful crazy shine, My father, My life, decided it was time to ditch the wife who made his life utter hell, and leave the product of his sperm donation to fend for herself, in this cold, cruel world. The next day, I began my senior year of high school, and came home that afternoon to a single mother for the 5th time in my life, only this time the heartache was undeniably going to linger beside me. Six years later, it may have been quite a disappointment, but I have come to cope with the notion that I will never be blessed with the spirit that was once my sweet father. It is the pain of missing him immensely, regardless of what he had done to instill such ambivalence within me. It is and will always be the fact that he once loved me, even if it may not hold true anymore for him. It is fighting back the cancer of my soul, in hopes of one day seeing the man I once had known to be my father...and it is fighting the truth, that there is no hope, and I will never see the real him again. I struggle each day to come to terms with a loss that has defined me day after day, counseling session after session, anti-depressant after anti-depressant, and yet the thing is I may have spent my life, up to this moment, yearning, yearning to kiss a childhood pain, a lingering moment that has yet to subside, a resonating goodbye, but the older I have become since that moment of truth that led me to believe that love leaves, I comprehend that my father had his reasons, and both my parents had their faults. Even though my father took his own disappointment in life, which was not having a father, out on me, I’d still give the world to be wrapped up in his tumultuous tempest and all its sheer wonder just one last time.