I just know it. Every time. Every instant. My heart swells in acute pain, I feel a large lump in my throat and I feel the despair consume my existence.
I know I am weak. How I hate this feeling of being weak. I hate it, and I cannot deny it, and I hate it even more. My chest feels heavy and I know what is to follow. I despise being in this state. I feel scared and I know I need to get away.
I scramble for my keys. I put on the first article of clothing I find. My own house seems to haunt me. I turn on the ignition and I start driving in to the darkness. I press the gas hard, so hard I hear my engine gasping for breath. I finally hit the dark country road and I know there is no turning back from there. I keep going faster and faster, till I can feel the weight of my body lifting up in my leather seat.
Tears flood down my eyes. Like a waterfall. I am so powerless. I bawl loud and helplessly, hoping the speed of my car and the pitch darkness of nightfall will save me some embarrassment. It has been months and I still escape from my house like this, crying and crying all the way till my eyes can take it no more.
I am very upset, and I am very very hurt. I cannot explain to you what it is like to lose someone in the way I have lost my father. I experience the acute pain of grief – knowing I can do nothing to help him anymore. Knowing I did nothing while he was alive. I am angry at myself, and sometimes I am angry at him, yet my anger towards him is quickly replaced with more guilt and remorse. How can I be angry at a dead man. I ask myself sometimes – why didn’t he reach out? If he could just name my name. Asked someone to find me – I would have opened my doors to him.
My old father. He must’ve been hungry on so many nights, he must have been cold. He must’ve gotten harassed on the streets. Oh the pain I feel imagining all these scenarios. My heart shatters in to a million pieces. So much pain. I don’t think I can take it anymore. Images of his dead body flash through my mind. My heart is swollen in pain. I remember him walking through the doors of our small apartment with boxes of pizzas piled high. I remember all the food he ever bought me. If I could take it all back, every penny he spent. If I could take all the money he spent on six flags tickets, gas and getting me samosas at Indian. If I could take it all back, and give it back to him… Only if I could. How can I live with this sorrow. Sometimes I wish I never knew he’s gone…. how can I live with this pain? It consumes me day in and day out. While I know his life was a result of his choices, I know that nobody wants to wander the streets. Nobody wants to be homeless, nobody wants to die on the road on a cold January night. Nobody.
If you could once see the pain in my eyes… I have nothing of you except a few long lost memories… If I could take back all the time I ever spent with you.. just to tell you that I am here, that I can help you… I would trade my entire life to help you… but I can’t… and that is the burden I am left to live with.