it just occurred to me that there will be no one to "give me away" at my wedding. maybe it's a silly and sexist tradition, but it still hurts to think that my daddy won't walk me down the aisle...

dreams:

1. it was like when i lost the larger half of my baby blanket. once i got used to having the smaller half, it wasn't so bad. in my dream there was half of my father, it was his body, with half of his memories. he called himself my dad's brother, but really, he was my dad.


2. started out mundane. went to concert at brookdale. arrived late, as people were leaving. walked back to room. girl complaining loudly on her cell phone. in elevator with chinese family. talked to them. got out of elevator and walked down hall to find my door open and the light on. resembled a hotel room. at first i think brookdale is doing another inspection, but when i look in, i see 3 dads in the room. one is corpse on the floor. one is on the bed, face half covered. it looks like he is wearing a face mask. one is sitting in a chair over bed. i walk in, incredulous that my father is alive and that there are 3 of them. "leave me alone, tracy." says the one on the chair. "but..what are you doing here..." no answer. the one on the bed grabs my hand. it is not cold, not warm. i hold his hand for a minute, until i feel a needle on my face. he is trying to stick me with it. i cry and tell him to stop before awakening.

Sudden, painful, and quick, memories come like the pinches of strangers in a crowd.

I keep wanting to go home, then I remember that I am. It doesn't feel like home anymore. We are cleaning out your closets, going to buy new furniture, etc. Things are going to change. We are reclaiming the house as though it only belongs to us, but it belongs to you too...in my heart.

It's as though I died with you. I wish that were true. At least temporarily. I want to go where you are, be with you, find answers, know you're OK.

But you aren't. That's the problem. And I'm stuck here, one needle away from a broken back.

rip daddy- 10/17/51 - 10/15/10 :(

I loved you so much. It hasn't really hit me that you're gone forever. I keep thinking you're going to come back, but by now your ashes are scattered somewhere over the sea.

Yet I'm sitting in class watching a stupid film about Sufism, surrounded by people who think everything is normal. Everything is the same, except that you're gone. But how can you be gone when nothing has changed?

The time bomb ticks, pauses occasionally, deludes me repeatedly, and resumes its course. There is no worse torture I know than this game of waiting for an inevitable end, then being given some reason to hope that the inevitable isn't so, right in time for things to get worse, then slightly better again, then even worse, and worse, and slightly better, then worse and worse and worse until it can't get any worse. If I know this pattern so well, why does it throw me every time?

FUCK THISSSSS

There is a difference between standing alone and being alone.

This morning, after pulling the all-nighter of all-nighters, I lost control at long last. I let myself lose it, that is. Yet, tonight, even going on 40 hours without sleep, I feel stronger. Sometimes you need to make yourself vulnerable, leave yourself a little room to fuck up and be human, and accept some damn help if someone wants to give it. Allowing that kind of support to penetrate my sarcastic, stone-cold exterior demanded strength that I never knew I had.

I may not always feel strong, but that doesn't mean I'm not. I don't have another choice. I bear the weight of circumstance and the fear of what happens after. This is my struggle, but I know you are here. Thank you for reaching me. I may stand alone, but I'm not.