from the ages of 2 until i was 21, and even a few times after i left home
he was a good man in public. loved. compassionate. caring.
i feel sad because he was starting to accept me as his son.
relieved but scared because the nightmares and flashbacks will never cease
guilty about my relief
furious at G-d for not giving me a chance to get some closure...for both of us
he'd been better lately. so much better.
we (my entire system and I) were pretty damn close to even forgiving-
But, he died. Is it a sin to speak ill of the dead who cannot defend themselves? Spent all last week saying nothing but good thing after good thing. maybe we can't talk about it any more. maybe we won't. secrets and silence-
now, he'll never get to see me start T
but i dont have to worry about my kids...
i dont know what the fuck we are supposed to do with this
i want death. i want blood. i want burns.
i'm confused and i'm overwhelmed with all the bad shit that happened to us BEFORE his death, this semester
my therapist seems to think i'll get through this.
so do my friends.
i don't think i'm as high-functioning as i have led them to believe
i'm liable to disappear for a few months, the first chance i get- maybe i won't come back even
or i could stay inside, let an angry gay boy live my life for a while...or maybe even a blank state
catatonia sounds very appealing
i am so fucked.....