I just had one of the most emotionally draining conversations of my life, which is why I'm writing this blog at exactly midnight. But it's still the eighth to me, because I haven't fallen asleep yet and I honestly probably won't for a while. It's just going to be hard. The conversation was with my Dad and it's the first time I've talked to him in two months, because I really am the worst daughter. Most of it was me crying, most of it was me apologizing, but it's also the most honest I've been with anyone in a long time.
The thing is, I don't talk about my Dad, not really, not to anyone. Only people close to me get to know about him, I mean, about him really, not just his name in passing. But even then it's rare, because they are a lot of people in my life who have probably never even heard me mention my Dad or even known of his existence And of all of the friends I've ever had in this life, only one friend has ever actually met my Dad, and just a few (maybe three) have seen pictures. I don't let people know about my Dad because of things that happened in the past and because people are way too harsh to judge. No one understands, and no one ever will, about how I feel about my Dad and the things that happened when I was young, too young to comprehend the world. But I'm older now, my comprehension of it came years ago. And I'm forgiving but the world isn't and it scares me, and so I don't let them know. I hide him. But here's three things, three things you can know about my Dad. One; he's a shrimper/fisherman/crabber...anything seaworthy or any sea vessel you can imagine has been touched by him in his life, he's one of those people who was just born for the water. And I am not ashamed at all for this. Two; oddly enough with the love of the sea my Dad also looks like a pirate, a one Captain James Hook. Somehow I think it fueled my obsession wit Peter Pan as I grew up. But really, my dad has it, the long black hair (longer than mine even), beard and mustache. Though in the recent years there has been more grey than black. And he has these piercing bright blue eyes that are just amazing and I'm really jealous that I was never blessed with (damn you Jeannie for inheriting most of his genes). Three; my Dad is the only person in the world who I allow to call me baby, on any other person's lips the word just sounds derogatory. And I love me Dad and when he tells me he loves me, I know he really means it.
And tonight we talked. And it's hard to say. I can't say in here. Only that you should know that I am sad, I am really sad. But I am also happy. The thing with me, though, is that my sadness is so much stronger than my happiness. It just overwhelms me. And tonight, just earlier when I was on the phone with my Dad, I was drowning in it. And I just let it swallow me. And I got things out, I said things that I've wanted to say and haven't been saying. I really don't know if I feel better or worse for it. But I do know that it hurts, it hurts so much because I have to go through everyday pretending everything is okay. But it is okay, sometimes. I mean really, the simplest things on a daily basis make me happy. But it's like my sadness it living inside of my all time, and it's just waiting there at any moment to rise up and drown me again.
Fin.
-Keshia
Currently Reading Cry of the South by Lila Dostal
*Just found out blogger is two hours behind my time, so technically I did post this before midnight*
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