Keller, As in Helen.

All Good

I have neglected my tumblr for months now and after reading over a few posts it is clear why: my tumblr became the place where I let out all my sad, depressed emotions. Even I didn’t want to read that shit and I wrote it. Sorry to anyone who got dragged into my neuroses and endless crippling self-loathing and doubt. If it helps, here is a photo of my cat being super cuddly. And how bad can life be when you have an adorable kitty who holds your hand?

I’m not saying I will be back full-time here. I spend far too much time on my other blog http://rejectedbookplots.wordpress.com/ but I am saying when I drop back by it won’t be to hypothetically slit my wrists via the internet blogosphere.

Pretending I’m not sad is physically exhausting.

A long winded way to spell grief

So last week the Suns traded Goran Dragic (my fictitious future husband) thus starting a chain reaction for the events of this past week.

Thursday 2/24: I text my dad “The Suns traded Dragic. Saddest. Day. Ever!” to which he responds “I’m so sorry, I’m in Oregon. My mom needs triple bi-pass surgery and canceled it so I had to fly up to make sure she got it done.” …I feel like an ass.

Saturday 2/26: I text my dad to see how everything is going. Find out surgery is scheduled for Thursday 3/3. I am relieved she is going through with it for my dads sake. In the interest of full disclosure- I have no feelings whatsoever in the outcome of the surgery. I have not seen this woman in 20 years and the limited memories I have of her and far from good. I am only concerned because at the end of the day, she is still my dad’s mom.

Sunday 2/27: My dad calls to ask me an extremely awkward question. As it turns out, the family I don’t know up in Oregon are quite the manipulative bunch. Thus, my father has to be the executor of his mother’s will so her dying wishes can be preserved. Apparently, Darlene plays some intense favorites. Which isn’t surprising, at least she’s consistent in death as she was in life. Well, on the off chance something happens to my father before she kicks the bucket, guess who then becomes the new executor of the will? You guessed it, the one who can’t say no. I realize that the odds of me having to actually do anything are extremely slim but I don’t want anything to do with any of it.

Wednesday 3/2: My father calls me first thing in the morning and I instantly know something has happened. He starts off by saying he saw his dad and uncles on Monday and they had a really nice time. Then on Tuesday his dad went for a walk and never came back. He had a massive heart attack and was dead before he hit the ground. This comes after he had had a check up with a clean bill of health from the doctors just weeks before- heart like a teenager they said. I am in a bit of shock and all I can muster to say is “What?” I wish I never said that word because what came out of my father’s mouth will haunt me for the rest of my life. “My dad’s dead” and then he broke down. He turned into a shell of himself telling me he was in Oregon and didn’t know if I knew that. And that he had been working on his mom’s will and wasn’t sure I knew that either. It was as though he had no memory of talking to me for the past week. He said he would have called the day before but just couldn’t. I keep replaying the way my dad uttered “My dad’s dead” as if that was the first time he really grasped the gravity of the situation. I close my eyes and hear him and my heart breaks every time. The thing is, I’m not close with my dad. In fact, he’s left me waiting, staring out the window for him not to come more times then he’s actually shown in my life. But in the face of tragedy, he called me. He didn’t call my brother, he called me. He seems like he is actually trying and I want to be cautious about it but what if this was the event that made him actually be my dad? For the first time in my life, I feel sorry for my dad. I’ve felt many many things about him and none of them was ever sorry. But at the end of the day, he is my dad. Just like Darlene is his mom and Jim is his dad. They may not be the parents you want or even need but you share half of them. You can’t escape them. I don’t know what to do for him. I can’t imagine going up there thinking you may have to bury your mom and then have your dad die unexpectedly.

Thursday 3/3: Surgery is moved to Friday. Dad doesn’t give reason but says he’ll talk when he knows more.

Friday 3/4: I’m too afraid to call my dad to find out what is happening. I am afraid I will have to go to Oregon and face all these people I escaped. I will have to fake emotion because I don’t have any towards them. I can only feel sorry for my father.

What kind of person is completely unaffected by their grandfather’s death? I know I didn’t know him, but he is still part of me. We share DNA and all I can think about is how much it would suck to finally share a nice moment with my dad and then start to think after all this time we could have a relationship and then he’s just gone. My dad didn’t have much of a relationship with his father either, but they had a moment. He got a glimpse on Monday. Tuesday it was all taken away. I’m more afraid of not having a chance to ever know my dad then sad about the loss.

If the Suns had just kept Dragic, I never would have text my dad and I probably wouldn’t know any of this. Ignorance is bliss. I wouldn’t have the soundtrack of my father’s broken self on a continuous loop in my mind. I wouldn’t feel an odd empty-sadness. I wouldn’t…

The Unbearable Lightness of Being (Me)

“I am always sad, I think. Perhaps this signifies that I am not sad at all, because sadness is something lower than your normal disposition, and I am always the same thing. Perhaps I am the only person in the world, then, who never becomes sad. Perhaps I am lucky.”
— Jonathan Safran Foer (Everything Is Illuminated)

I close my eyes and I feel it. I feel the weight of every decision I’ve ever made, every decision I will ever make, every decision I was too afraid to make. These choices pile up. They bury deep into my chest forming little holes where the hope escapes and the sorrow fills its place. Every day the decisions get a little heavier, a little sadder, a little more futile. Some days the weight is so heavy I can’t breathe. I gasp for air and when I do I swallow some of the sorrow. With each breath it fills my lungs. I am drowning from the inside.

Each night I go to bed a little heavier, more defeated. It’s as though I am a shell of myself and I watch this new version of me fall asleep. And each morning I awake, back in my body, convincing myself that this day will be the day it changes. Yet, every night I am outside myself reliving each choice as it settles in its new home ontop of the others.

Each day I try. I try to be a better version of what I’ve become. Sometimes I close my eyes and I picture myself finally saying all the things I’ve never said. I picture throwing printers out of windows or yelling at shitty clients. Some days I picture finally saying it all and imagining that this is all it will take. I imagine that if I could just stop internalizing everything I could finally start breathing. I open my eyes and remember I am too scared to do anything but build walls. I’ve built so many walls that the big bad wolf would need his entire pack to huff and puff his way in.

For now, I pretend. I smile and tell jokes and listen intently to other people living their lives. I do everything I can to make them happy. I do this while adding more bricks to my wall. The only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad.

I’m fine…

Really.