I guess I should re-cap. Okay, the last two years have not been much different. I'm no longer plagued by the desperate heartbreak or torture of my ex-husband (the heartbreak that literally left me a shell of the person I once was and had to seek help for), but minor heart break has still ensued. Because of that, I've decided that it may be functional to namelessly contribute to this blog again. If you stumble across it, maybe you'll know that you're not alone.
So...let's see here...well, there have been men. They have come and gone. Once since, has fucked me over time and time again, but he's come and gone over the last two years as well and I'm desperately trying to shake him (that can be for a different blog when I learn how to use this thing better) still. However, it was never in the way that my ex-hub left me. I am MUCH stronger now and and MUCH wiser. Yet, I still fall for douche bags...or one in particular...and I fall hard. There's really no explanation to it. He's not all that great. He doesn't really have his shit together, he has always thought about him more than me, and he never really supported me in anyway that I needed him to. Yet, I fell. We've all been there...and we don't know why. But it happens. At least I can recognize that. And the first step in recovery is admittance, right? Right. Okay, so here we go.
I'm an addict. I'm addicted to men who cannot love me nor treat me "right," because I've never known any different. And when I get those glimmers, I push them away. Those men are foreign to me and they freak me the fuck out! I should swoon when they send me three white roses at work (another blog post, I promise), but I don't; I cringe. But oh well, this blog post isn't intended to recap my lack in promising men and plethora in shit heads....no, it's meant to tell you, to the one that isn't even looking, that my dad may have cancer...
We found out yesterday....and we don't even know....
I'm mad and sad all at the same time. I'm PISSED that the doctor could throw it out there without even having solid proof. But, I suppose the proof is that 1/3rd of his blood is missing and they don't know why. He goes in for more tests on Monday and I'm hoping we'll have a better understanding then. In the mean time, I feel it necessary to preach into the void how FUCKED up I feel and how FUCKED up this whole thing is.
Maybe, it's really how guilty I fell....guilty for having told my mom a year ago that I support her divorcing him (another blog that may have to happen), and guilty for losing all respect for him since. Guilty for having my ex-douche bag even tell me that I should work on my relationship with my dad. Guilty for that being my ONE New Year's resolution....to work on my attitude and relationship with my Dad. Guilty for thinking he was over-reacting when I got the text that he was in the ER for chest pain...guilty for down playing his prognosis when he was telling me and not letting him get a word in edge-wise to really try to tell me that he may have cancer or that they at least put it out there, but instead kept turning it back on myself saying, "hey me too!" (as I JUST (day before) had similar test for GI disease which I have to further get tests on).... Guilty that my sister had to tell me. Guilty that I yelled at my mom for not telling me, and she turning it on me because it was HIM I was talking to not her, and I was relating to me and not listening. Guilty for not wanting to call my dad now...Guilty for being happy when I got his voice mail just now. Guilty for being 26 years old and for having to be the adult to my parents since before I was 15....guilty for the resentment I hear in people's voices when they reiterate this and guilty for the fact that I don't want it. Guilty because I feel like I'm 16 all over again and just was told over the phone that my Uncle Ted committed suicide...that's he's dead, and that I have to be the once to drive an hour to my parent's property, in the dark, in the middle of no where to tell them that their best friend/brother is dead. Guilty, because I still remember those moments SO clearly, and guilty because I feel them now. Guilty because I'm so scared and don't even know why. Guilty, because this seems too surreal and after all, I could be nothing, right? Guilty because it may not be nothing and I still hold resentment..........
Dad, you were my hero.....and you failed me so many times....time and time again....and I defended you....much like the douche bags that I do now in my dating life. I suppose I hold it against you for teaching me that all men will fail me, and now I cling to that and fall for it, because that's all I know. But why should that be your problem? That's mine, is it not? And yet, here I am, single, broken and crying over a fucking blog going into the void of the internet...the things I could never say in person, or have done so many times before that it doesn't even matter. Either way, here I am at 26 years old and scared as shit as though I was 16...and I have no one here to comfort me....
Or at least as I think. I have some AMAZING friends who are blowing up my phone even as I type, because it took courage for me to text them. The courage it's taken me 4 years to build up and gain back...to reach out....and here you guys are, instantly responding when I say I need you and not even in those words. There is still fight in me...I will keep fighting through the depression and the bull shit that these pages once fell to. And I will fight for my dad now...you guys reminded me of that just now. He may not fight, but I will fight for him. After all....we're Hills....we're survivors...it's what we do...it's all we know how to do. And goddammit, we will do it!
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