ten

I feel like I’m reliving my past through flashbacks and blackouts. The memories are so vivid, but I can’t convince myself that they’re not real. Why would I? Everyday, with every memory, I get to relive my happiest memories; memories of my dad.


Still, I know that the memories will not last. I wish they did, but they don’t. Stepping back into reality is the hardest part; each time it feels like my dad is being ripped away from me again. As if once wasn’t enough, my brain has somehow managed to put the worst day of my life on repeat. It’s torture. And despite it all, I still want to close my eyes and magically go back into the illusion. 

Unfortunately, that’s not how real life works; the world won’t let you just live in the utopic and happy universe. No, instead, you’re forced to live in reality. And in reality, I’m not happy. 

I’m not the only one dealing with the consequences my flashbacks and blackouts; Mom’s beginning to be very concerned. She sees the way that I'm acting now and worries that I may be going off the deep end. The sad thing is, I think she may be right. Mom keeps threatening to send me to an institution, but I know she never would. She’s not strong enough to handle having both her husband and her daughter taken away from her. So I usually just ignore her threats and continue to give into the memories.


I believe that getting to see my dad for 7 minutes a day vastly outweighs the pain that follows. Instead of forcing the memories to stop, I’ve learned how to lessen the blow. I've started to use writing as my coping mechanism again. In my attempt to cling onto the memories, I write down every detail them that I can remember. It elongates the sensation. Not only that, but I feel as if my dad’s presence is with me as I write. It feels like he’s here, standing over me, telling me what to write.  


Needless to say, Mom's idea of institutionalization seems more and more likely when what she sees when she walks into my room is my writing gibberish and talking to my notebook.