Life is *hard* sometimes and sometimes you just feel like writing. Most of the writing I do ends up being sent to someone or finds its way into my phone; there’s not really a lot of writing that I do publicly. So why do I resort to this long outdated platform? Privacy, perhaps, or at least the illusion of privacy. I’ve long since cared what most people think about me, my attitudes, my perspectives. I think the reason I’ve chosen this particular medium is so that someone might see it. Maybe they’ll find something beautiful in this chaos or perhaps they’ll realize that they aren’t alone; sometimes it’s good to be reminded of that.
It’s not every day, or every week, or every month that I find myself crying. In the last several years, I can only pick out a handful of instances. I find that every time I do, I’m reminding myself that I don’t always have it held together, that I’m not perfect, that I’m, in fact, only a small small part of the universe. Relatively speaking, we all are — right along with everything we know and love. It’s good to be reminded of how little some things matter in life; it at least provides me a sense on awareness and a sense of perspective.
The other day I found myself in tears. Of course life is hard, it’s a fact well known by everyone. However, in that instance, I felt that it was my life that’s hard. It’s silly to think to think that anyone has it worse than anyone else; it’s disrespectful to those that genuinely do have a more difficult time in their walk through life, but in my sorrow, I didn’t think about that. I didn’t consider their pains and their hardships because I couldn’t witness it, because I couldn’t even begin to think about it.
I took a nice picture of myself in that moment. I took a picture of myself at my worst. It’s not something anyone ever really gets a chance to do and I’m thankful for the opportunity. I needed to hold that moment in time. I needed to bring with me tangible evidence of my own fragility. I needed a reference point for the future. I needed a reminder of my own expression for absolute sorrow.
My parents are getting a divorce.
My father, who couldn’t be less of a father right now, has been juggling an affair for the better part of two years. In a few short months, I’ve managed to lose all respect for this man and I’m not sure I could ever call him my father again.
I never realized on a personal level that knowledge can be painful. Even despite this, I still have questions that I can’t answer. What drives people to do such ridiculous things? How can anyone be that irresponsible?
I wrote him a letter. I was tactful and treated him like I would an irresponsible friend. I felt like I had it all together then. A day later I just broke down. I don’t think I even recognized there was a problem until something minute triggered an avalanche of emotion. I dialed his number, hoping to let him hear the pain he’s causing the people he claims to love. No response. I left a sobbing voicemail at 4am and just told him that I couldn’t imagine hating anyone more than I hated him.
That night I set about blocking every form of communication that he could use to contact me. Shutting people out of my life is a rare occasion and, at the very least, I need time away from him. It’s a sad thought to think about the schism he’s created between us, but worse yet that I plan on keeping it that way. They say that you should avoid toxic friends, but what about family?
Right now, I feel fine. I know I’ll get through this. At the very least, I either have to get through it or have to stop living and I have too many things I need to do before I’m ready to stop living. We all have to realize that life is just hard sometimes and there’s no sense in trying to circumvent that fact. I’m just thankful that, despite all of this, I’m still lucky to be as fortunate as I am. This experience will inevitably strengthen the remainder of my family but, in the transitional period, I think I should just expect more sorrow.