What Still Hurts?
Some hurts will always be a part of you
I count myself among the heartbroken.
I had a messed up relationship with my dad. At a very young age he began relying on me for his happiness.
My parent’s marriage had fallen apart epically. He would tuck me in at night and tell me, “You are the only one I love. If it weren’t for you, I would have no reason to live.” This was a heavy burden for me, obviously.
As he descended into addiction and depression, I wanted to make him happy. I tried so hard to be what he needed to go on living. I made jokes, I cooked, I cleaned, I fawned.
But, as children do, I grew up. I moved out of the home to start my own life at 20. I stuck around as long as I could. Truly. But the tension in the home was sucking the life out of me. I couldn’t do it anymore.
I put all my belongings in my car and escaped to my own apartment.
He didn’t help me move. To him, my moving out was a betrayal. I still remember him standing at the front door with his arms hanging down by his side as I left.
Five days later he committed suicide.
