four words.

My life was completely shattered all because of four little words, four powerful words. I sat cross-legged on the cold rough pavement, shaking as I surveyed the empty campus. This is not happening. I cannot let this happen. If I open my mouth everything will come crashing down. The thick walls around myself that I’ve worked so hard to construct will crumble and the truths and realities of my world will rush in and consume me. He doesn’t mean it. He loves me. He promised to stop. I try to remain strong, but all I can think about are the nightmares, the pain, and him. I can’t get his face out of my head. I see someone sitting next to me. I can hear them asking me what’s wrong; telling me I can trust them, telling me everything will be alright. It’s all too much for me. Thoughts are racing through my mind like a tornado wrecking everything in its path. I try to remain calm, and stay in control, but the words are screaming at me, yearning to be heard. They win the battle and charge out of mouth like soldiers to war. I wasn’t ready. These words were about to take hold of my life and turn it upside down, and all I could do was sit back and watch.

I wasn’t thinking about the future, or the consequences. My dad was like Jekyll and Hyde. He had two sides to him. He was two completely different people. What I never stopped to realize is that in order to get rid of one I had to get rid of the other, and I’m not sure it was worth it. My dad could be terrifying and sick, and most of the time he was, but every once in awhile he would surprise me, and I could catch a glimpse of how it must feel to have a real father. Even if it was just for a second, I felt loved, and I miss that. I miss him. It’s not like I can just pick up the phone and call him. I mean, I have his number. I know it by heart. I haven’t tried to memorize it or anything. It wasn’t on purpose, he just calls so much. I hear the phone ring once and my heart begins to race. I pick up the phone and wait. It rings again and the caller I.D. confirms that it’s him. I hold the phone for a second wanting so badly to answer it, and see if he says anything. I’d be quiet, anxiously waiting to hear his voice on the other end of the line just for a moment before hanging up, but it doesn’t happen. I stop myself. I put down the phone and walk away as if it’s completely normal. It is normal. Sometimes I’ll talk or think about my dad, and if you didn’t know what had happened, you would think he died. I feel like he has. I wish he had, because then everyone would understand why I’m such a mess. I would still feel awful, but at least I’d be allowed to miss him. At least Brian would accept that dad’s gone, and then all of this wouldn’t be my fault. I could feel the way I do now without feeling ashamed or guilty, and people would understand instead of thinking “Well her dad didn’t die. She can always talk to him or see him again if she wants to.” What they don’t understand is that I can’t ever see him again. He’s dead to me. He was dead to me the moment I spoke those words. The moment I broke free and the moment the pain became real.