Trying to be stronger than I am

Well, I would like to think that I have done quite well this last year in handling my dad’s death, my grandma getting cancer, my dogs death, and all the other bad stuff that has happened. But some nights are extremely hard to handle, especially right now as my dad’s birthday is just a few days away. I just can’t seem to keep a strong handle on the sadness that is swelling more and more the closer it gets to his birthday. A lot has happened in the last year since his passing and I sometimes wonder if I am strong enough to handle it.

July 16, 2012 – Dad passed away

Early August – Started college at 16

August 16, 2012 – Maynard (My dog and best friend) passed away

August 29 – My dad’s birthday

Mid-September – Grandma (Who raised me since 6-ish months old) diagnosed with cancer.

October – My “best friend” told me that they thought I was stupid and hated me

November – Little brother diagnosed with sever childhood bipolar disorder

December – My birth mother told me she hated me and wished she would have aborted me when she had the chance.

Those are just the biggest things to have happened to me over the last year. And I honestly wonder sometimes if I am strong enough to handle all the stuff going on in my life. I am only 18 years old and feel like every time something seems to go good, a million bad things happen. I constantly feel like I am trying to be stronger than I actually am. I try and try and try. For what? To break over and over again?  Some days I really do feel like I need to be stronger than I am. Then I think about all the support I do have and the fact that I can help other girls going through the same thing and I realize that it is worth it to act like I am stronger than I truly am.


Poem to the dead

I thought of you today

But that is nothing new.

I thought about you yesterday

And days before that too.

I think of you in silence

I often speak your name

All I have are memories

And a picture in a frame.

Your memory is a keepsake

From which I will never part.

God has you in his arms,

I have you in my heart.

Daddy why did you leave me?

Daddy, why did you leave me? Why was it you? I tried my entire life to become closer to you and it finally happens for me and you had to go.

You left me as an infant to try and survive on my own. I don’t blame you for that. If my mother hadn’t run away maybe you could have stayed. Maybe you would have loved me more from the beginning if everyone hadn’t set you up for failure. But please don’t worry about that because I don’t blame you. Your hand was forced by the situation. You called and wrote and sometimes sent me pictures. I would have loved to have known sooner that I had a little sister, but that’s okay too. I don’t blame you.

You left me as a preteen. Confused. Hurt. Betrayed. But that is fine. A lesson I would have learned in time. I was beaten and battered and bruised by the couple that the courts made you choose. That is not an issue. I became stronger and smarter and faster thanks to you. But you still called and had me visit. Lots of planes and time in the air to make it to wherever you called home at the time. I didn’t mind. A vacation is fun once is a while so I really don’t blame you.

You left me at sixteen, a sad and upset teenager in need of a father. But that doesn’t matter. I still made it through high-school just fine. Two years early for that matter. I got jumped many times by guys twice my size. You left me there alone, with no one to put the fear of God into them. But I don’t care about that. You still talked me through my pain and helped me grow into a better person.

You left me at seventeen. Not a word nor a sound from you. Just a knock on my door at two in the morning in the middle of summer. I thought that the knock was the police looking for my older sister. I felt annoyed that our house was woken up. When I saw the people I knew they were not officers. I remember them asking for your dad and I remember him getting off his bed on the couch. The lady sat us down and told us the news. You had left me again. 

When you left me that  time at 17 I was pretty mad. You had left me for real. A heart attack they said. You were only 36 years old. A father of six. A friend to many. You were one of my favorite people. I didn’t mind at all for all the times you left me over the years. But this time I minded. There is no way you can make this one up to me. You can’t call me anymore, you can’t fly me to your house, you can’t listen to my cries. You can’t come back to me from the grave.

But there is still one thing I want to know. Daddy, why did you leave me?