May 10th

It is in the minutes before I am fully awake that I think of you the most. I see you, and for just a moment in time, I feel as though your not so far away. It is in those first few moments of my day where I am able to feel whole again, where all the pieces that have been swept away somehow find their way back and I can breath. I am neither depressed nor anxious and I am able to enjoy the birds chirping and the smell of spring.

Those moments are but temporary; although, I wish they weren’t. I dread the milliseconds that pass and know that as soon as I move, as soon as my alarm goes off, I will be thrown back into the storm.

The storm that has become my life. The Dark thick clouds that seem to rest comfortably upon my soul ignite and spark, they drowned out the little bits of hope I managed to hang on to, they set fire to my heart with rods of lightening and cause fear with their loud thunderous screams. It feels as though I am in the middle of an empty field, with nothing but uprooted trees and fractured pieces of my heart around me.

And through those booming screams, I am overcome with the realization that I don’t even know who “you” are or why you seem to calm the storm.

Rambling…

My reason for starting this blog was to have a place to write everything down and know that it’d still be there in the rare occurrence that things may turn out for the better, but this blog just causes me stress. Knowing that anyone – especially people who try so desperately to squeeze into mine and my families’ personal lives – can read all the things that I’ve always kept so deep inside. How am I suppose to comfortably write, blog, share when I’m so concern with who or what is reading my thoughts? I use to find comfort in that thought, the fact that people around the world would read my blog posts and in their own ways connect with me, or perhaps find comfort in knowing that their pain wasn’t abnormal. Now, every time I begin to write my anxiety spikes. My mind shuts down and I am unable to write anything.

But really, what more can I say? What else can I blog about that I haven’t said before? My life is just so repetitive, so boring; its comparable to writing the same sentence over and over again, and yet I do nothing to make it better, nothing to make my life more exciting and more worthy of being called a “life”. I just exist, that is all. I do not live life, or embrace the unpredictable, yet beautiful chaos that life brings. I idle, neither going forward nor backwards, in a place of unhappiness and entrapments. I often feel as though I am living in a glass box, able to see the glorious life that lays just feet away from me and yet I am unable to break, or escape from my enclosure and so I run in circles. I continue to run in circles, day in and day out, to incompetent to see that my glass house has no roof, to” comfortable” in my routine to see what is literally just above me, just feet in the air. I fear that if I do not begin to climb, jump, or reach for a way out I will be in this place forever. Stuck in a life that I am not happy in, stuck re-living the same day repeatedly and calling it a life.

I’ve always had so many excuses, whether it be my dad or my nephews, it was an excuse. I barely visited my dad, and my nephews didn’t need me as much as I made it seem, but saying I couldn’t leave because of my dad or nephews was easier than accepting the fact that I was just too scared. But fear is normal. Being scared means your stepping out of your comfort zone and making progress in your life. What isn’t normal is how unhappy of a person I am, how I haven’t had a relationship sense tenth grade, that I haven’t been in love sense Brandon, and that I haven’t moved on from things that happened so many years ago.

Why haven’t I moved on?

Why can’t I find the strength to learn from my mistakes and move forward, why haven’t I been living like a typical 20 something? I can’t continue to blame other people and past mistakes for why my present is such a mess.

                      How easy is it for me to say what I know needs to be done yet I am here still, still in the same place I was a year ago; the same place I was in 3 years ago.

I need to stop caring so much for the wellbeing of other people, because lord knows no one cares about me as deeply as I care about them, and begin to focus on me, on what will make me feel better. No matter how hard its going to be. I’m tired of being the person who is always there for everyone else, and yet I am constantly lonely. I am tired of crying in the shower or late at night because I am lonely.

I’m so lonely.

I’ve been so lonely sense the death of my best friend. No one understands, and I don’t know how to explain to people, why her death has messed me up so much. I don’t know how to tell people that she was my comfort. I don’t know how I’m suppose to tell people that she was the 17498646_10158508230045381_4974498748359248487_nonly thing on the planet that could calm me down when my anxiety was beating me down, how she was the only reason my depression didn’t consume me – she always knew when I was depressed and she’d curl up in my arms and gently lick away the tears from my face. She was the one thing in this world that I couldn’t imagine losing; and then I lost her. It was so sudden, it was so painful, I didn’t even get to sit with her, tell her I loved her one last time, and comfort her while they ended her suffering. I’m still so angry that I didn’t get the chance to make the decision whether I saw her pass away or not, and I resent my mom because of it. I love my mom, so much, but I hate what she did. I hate that I had to be in the dark about my best friend, and that I was at work while my bug took her last breath. I wish my mom would have allowed me to make the decision, I wish she knew how angry I am at her for taking that away from me. Jayda was more mine to me than just a dog, and I thought my mom knew that; it hurts so much that she doesn’t get it. I wanted to be there, that’s why I stayed up for 3 days making sure she didn’t die alone – yet she still did.  She died in a place that was unfamiliar, with nothing and no one. That breaks my heart more than anything, knowing she was so alone, and I hate myself everyday for it.                    

I just wish I knew why I lost her… She was my baby…

That’s another thing…

I’m almost 27 and I’m no closer to having a baby than I was 5 years ago, actually I was closer 5 years ago, and yet it appears everyone around me are having babies – my sister included.

I love my sister, but she never wanted to be a mom and here she is a mom of almost 3 and I have nothing. I use to dream of being a mom, I use to play house – imagining that I was a house wife and my husband was working – and care for my dolls as though they were real. I took care of my parents friends son when I was 13, and dreamed of the day when I had one of my own – all the while my sister locked herself in her room and would stay far away from children. So why is she the one who gets to have babies, and I’m the one who has Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome? Life’s not fair I suppose…

Ugh, I guess I’ll end this here since I’m rambling..

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That night..

Living through a traumatic or stressful experience hits people in different ways, we may suppress our feelings, we may deal with them and heal properly, or we may break.

[Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault]

I’ve talked about it a lot, wrote endless posts about ryan and what he did to me; but I’ve never really addressed the toll it took on me emotionally, physically and psychologically. When I was sexually assaulted I was thrown into a whirlwind of emotions. Not just because of what happened either.

I was 16, its been ten years and I haven’t been able to form a meaningful relationship since the night I lost sight of who I was. Beyond the crippling feeling associated with being assaulted, I hurled myself into the dark hole that has become my life. I thought that because my “friends” didn’t believe me, including the one person who was lying in that bed with me, no one would. My mom would say I was just drunk and because he was native people would assume that I asked for it, or perhaps that I lead him on. Those thoughts often run through my mind, maybe I did lead him on, but whether I lead him on or not I said no. I pushed his hands away and I said no. I wanted to sleep, that’s all and so I was the only one who convinced him to get out of the bed my “friend” and I were sleeping in, while two grown men watched on. I was the one who got him to the couch and then ran to the bedroom to lock the door. I was alone from that night on.

I suppressed myself, I suppressed the memories of that night as much as I could. I tried with all my energy to ignore the pounding in my head and the triggers and memories that enclosed around me. Until I couldn’t take it anymore, until the walls around me began to close in and I avoided people and places that he knew and went to. I avoided the world. I lived in a make believe world on the internet, where I could pretend I was happy, full of life and unharmed. I flirted and engaged with men on the internet, I took pictures that showed a side of me that wasn’t really there. I did not feel sexual, I did not feel like a normal 17 year old, or 18, or frankly today an almost 26 year old. I lost all need for intimacy and for sex, I began feeling as though I was broken, that he had turned off a switch most humans (and dolphins) have. It was hard enough when I was just living with the fact that my ex boyfriend came out after I lost my virginity to him but now I was broken goods, I was used and abused and afraid to tell anyone. I couldn’t tell my friends that the reason I dropped out of school and couldn’t come back was because being in that school, the school his picture hung on the wall of, was more difficult then I imagined. And I couldn’t explain to them why, at times, I was unreachable. Why I went months and years before I would work up the courage to see them again. They did not know me, this me, and I didn’t give them the chance to. I hid away so much that even my mom, dad and sister rarely saw me for more than 10 minutes. I stayed in my dark room for days, with my laptop and my fake smile photos and slept all day. I often thought about ending it all, it would be easier, it would be peaceful and I would be free. I would be free. Over the span of 6 years I watched as the world turned and aged around me and I felt as though I was trapped in the same place and time I was shortly after that night. I lived in a constant state of fear, fearful of being touched, being within two feet of a male. I was fearful of someone seeing it in my eyes that my world had gone black. I began to lash out in anger, I banged on doors trying to break them down, I told my pregnant sister I was gonna kick her in the stomach, I resented the world. I sat alone in my room and saw pictures and videos of other people living life, having babies, falling in love and I hated them all. I hated the fact that because I didn’t know how to heal, I didn’t have the courage to face what had happened that night, I wasn’t able to move on. I wasn’t able to fall in love, or trust someone. I felt stripped of the one thing all these girls were taking advantage of – being a mother. I can’t proclaim that it was only his touch made me this way, because there are girls and guys out there that have been sexually assaulted who have sex more, have kids from different dads, but my own self hatred over what I allowed to happen that night, the fact that I didn’t trust anyone to talk about it, I allowed his memories and his touch eat me alive and change the person I was suppose to become.

I realise now that the sexual assault was the first of many things I couldn’t heal from.

I didn’t know how to be happy, or how to move on from things, I still don’t. I didn’t know how to put my anger and pain aside to be happy for my sister and my friends when they had their first bundle of joys. I wasn’t able to put aside my selfish emotions long enough to be genuinely happy for anyone. I lost sight of my own health and I gained weight I still can’t lose. I hated myself more with everyday that passed, every pound I gained, every night I laid in bed and visions of that night circled in my mind. I just assumed I was depressed. I assumed a lot of things, okay I assume a lot of things. It hasn’t changed. Nothing has changed. I am still that 16 year old girl who was to scared to do anything about the night I was ruined. I speak about it, but I’ve never confronted the people that were involved, I suppressed my voice on subjects that needed to be expressed in a hopes that I would never be put in the position where I wouldn’t be believed – because I never told people my thoughts, my opinions, I never expressed my voice. I allowed the boy who molested me add me on facebook, and while he had no idea how broken I had become with every message he sent me asking me to hang out, I marinated in the pain. With every asd.pngmessage the pain sunk deeper into me, with every “wanna grab a coffee” the memories and smells and feelings rushed back to me. I couldn’t move, I cried, I froze, I wanted to scream but had no way of explaining it to my mom had she heard. I cut myself hoping it would stop, but he still continued to message me. I finally blocked him from ever messaging me again, in hopes that if I was not readily available he could not make his way into my life. But I was wrong I was wrong to think that just because I was able to block him on social media I was blocking him from my life. He started messaging me on any form of social media or dating sites (which I made in hopes of finding a person who would help me heal) reopening a healing wound. He referred to that night as a little mistake or something he didn’t remember and my entire body shook in anger, in fear, in realizing that he will never admit to being or doing wrong. And I know that I must forgive someone who will never apologize and I must grow from this experience but with every minute that goes by, and every memory that resurfaces I lose hope and manifest in this anger and pain.

People have often asked and wondered why losing Jayda was so much more traumatic for me than losing my dad, and I tell them because she was always here. I tend to leave out that she was my comfort, she calmed me down and kissed(licked) away my tears. I would snuggle up with her and stroke her soft fur and it felt safe. I felt like no one and nothing could hurt me in that moment. That’s why it hurts so much. I am now without the only thing that kept me alive in the darkest days. I stayed alive because I didn’t want Jayda to be alone, I am still here because of her; and I failed to keep her here. But that’s a whole other story. I guess it was the fact that she would lay with me and I had someone who always wanted to be next to me, even to the point that she would sleep inside a sweater or zip up jacket. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I miss having someone close to me, and I think that is the worst part of all of this. The fact that being physically and emotionally close to someone scares me beyond belief now. I use to love to be close to people, to hug my friends, to interlock arms while we walked anywhere, hug people, be near people; and now the only person I get that close to are my nephews and sometimes my mom. I miss the feeling of a strong, steady arm holding me, that sense of security and love. Now if an arm goes near me I flinch in remembrance of that night. I forget what its like to look into the eyes of a man and feel love, and the gentle touch of a hand while watching a movie or driving. I miss being able to feel calm in the presence of a man. I miss being kissed, I miss the rush that goes with new love, and those feelings that could almost make you sick. I miss love.

I know I need to face the people and things that hurt me, I know I need to stop living in the past and suppressing who I am, but knowing and doing are two drastically different things and I don’t know how to fix the way my brain has adapted to my trauma. I don’t know how to fix the scar the molestation left on my soul, or how to love another man when I’ve always been hurt.

***

Creator,

I pray to you in hopes that you can lead me towards the path of healing. That one day I will be free of the pain that started in the hands of a boy who was lost. I pray for the strength to forgive him for his wrong doings, to move on from the darkness of my past, and to grow into someone who perceivers through the pain.

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Days like today..

Its days like today that make me wonder why I still try to be or do anything, why I am still alive. Its days like today where I am unable to see the good in the world, to see the light at
14358759_557978631058165_4162404389811629166_n the end of the dark tunnel that has become my life. I know its such a drastic statement to make – “why I’m still alive” but I have accomplished nothing, I have done nothing and I feel like nothing. I am 26 years old in less then 2 weeks and the idea of being so old with nothing to show for it depresses me more than I ever thought possible.

I’m not suppose to still be like this, I went to the doctor, I got help. But it hasn’t helped.. nothing seems to “fix” me.

I’m told I should learn to forgive the people who hurt me in the past.. to move on from it. I hold a lot in, so many grudges, hatred for people who probably aren’t even aware that they matter that much in my life. People who have hurt me in ways I didn’t know was possible and in a way took away my ability to move on from the things that are holding me back. But its hard to forgive people and situations when you have had no closure, no opportunity to change who or what you are. Its hard to forgive people when you cant forgive yourself.

I am my own worst enemy.

I have done so many things in the past that I find unforgivable, so many things that I proclaim to hate are things I do or have done as well. I allow myself to become stuck in places and situations that are not helpful to anyone. I avoid things I should confess to or face. My entire life is a series of unfortunate events I put myself in. And maybe that’s it.. Maybe I am unable to move on not because of the things people did to me, but what I did to myself. I’ve allowed myself to be the victim of peoples torment, the quiet friend who does what you say, the push over, the one that’s afraid. I allowed situations that weren’t that significant to my life impact my life severely. I’ve allowed insignificant people to have the power to control my moods, my actions and I’ve allowed a certain person’s actions strip me of everything I’ve always wanted. I’ve allowed people to treat me the way they have because I hated myself so much that they’re actions and words proved what I already felt. 

I have no problem forgiving other people, I’ve even gone as far as accepting the guy who molested me’s friend request on social media – but that was before the weight of my self hatred crashed down around me and I felt the need to blame anyone else but me. I have forgiven and remained friends with the only guy I truly ever loved and imagined having a family with after B. I have forgiven old friends, time and time again, for things no one else would put up with. I have dug this hole around me, I have buried myself so deep that the only way I can move on from anything is to forgive myself for all the things I did, or didn’t, do.

But I haven’t learnt how to forgive myself, how to move on from the things that I regret and wish I could change. I don’t know how to make peace with my past decisions because through it all it has brought me no where, and nothing. I can’t proclaim that my past was just a lesson learnt, or that if it wasn’t for this or that I wouldn’t be where I am; because I know if it wasn’t for the things that haunt me at night I probably would be further into living, more alive then I am now. I know that without the things that are haunting me, the things that are eating me alive I could be happy. My past has done nothing but tear me apart, shown me who I’m not, what I’m not. My past made me untrusting and unwilling to let down my guard for anyone. My past lead me down the road of depression, of self loathing, of being 26 still living with my mom and working a shitty part time retail job, with no boyfriend and no kids and nothing of any substance.

There are days, like today, where I wish I could forgive myself and move on.

 

 


 

 

 

The funny thing about depression…

The funny thing – not funny in the humorous way, but in the ironic I-have-to-laugh-to-keep-from-crying kind of way – about depression and anxiety is that no one really understands how you feel.

“But so many people have depression, there’s a lot of people who can empathize with how you feel”. Ah yes imaginary internet person, but empathizing and experiencing it is completely different. You see, I can empathize with the African American communities that are experiencing extreme discrimination in the United States, but I can’t relate because I live in Canada and I am mostly Caucasian. Or I can relate to how annoying allergies but I don’t know how badly your body reacts to things because we are different. That’s the thing. Each cell, each strand of hair and pore on our bodies are different then someone elses. Our entire body has unique dna, the chemicals our brain produces to regulate our mood is also extremely unique and selective to only you, or me. Our “triggers” are also different. Summer may bring one depressed person relief from the cloudy and miserable weather, but summer reminds me of my dads death, of being sexually assaulted & now of losing my dog.

Dairy Queen, Mr. O’donnell, the phantom of the opera, crisp winter air and the taste of tears remind me that I will never feel worthy, that I am disposable and that the boy I “loved” came out and that is was because of me, irrational I know but when he tells you in anger that he will kill himself or ‘go’ gay if I leave him I can’t help but blame myself.

The smell of beer reminds me of the time I was sexually assaulted, cold hands remind me of how much he took away from me. I am no longer mine, I am a body trapped forever in that bed trying so hard to get him to stop.

Candle smoke, single wrapped hotdogs, Tim Horton coffee reminds me of my dad, stale air, hand sanitizer and kind strangers reminds me of the last time I saw him before he went to heaven.

And hot days like today, Sunday mornings, little black and brown dogs, the world reminds me of my itty bitty Jayda who passed away way to soon.

So, the not so funny thing about depression is that your fears of being alone is true. You are alone in how you feel. Your alone in the way your triggers haunt you. You are alone in the way your body processes chemicals. The not so funny thing about it is that you are fighting your own battle that no one can see and you alone are the only one who can change what and who you are. You cannot find happiness or a sense of “home” in a person, you cannot base your happiness on what other people think is right, or normal, or the proper way of doing things. You have to fight this alone. That’s the only way you can beat it; the only way you can assure that the darkness doesn’t take you is to make yourself happy first, no matter how much it hurts.

“How does putting yourself first hurt?” Again with the questions, but in my case because of my need to please, my intense sense of self dread, of not feeling worthy, I believe the feelings of the people around me are more important then my own. I blame this a lot on my sister and the way she bullied me as a child but I can’t place blame on other people for the way that I have turned out no matter how much their actions or words hurt or affected me in anyway. Anyways, putting my needs first, voicing my opinion and any basic self care has always been hard for me to do. I don’t take the time to heal from things, I sweep things under the rug until I’m tripping over it and falling face first into the mountain I created. I hold on to the words people say to me until I am being eaten alive by parasitic self doubt and overly analyzed words. I fear that I won’t be believed, because my words have never been. But I know that has to stop if I ever want to begin to live again, if I ever want to go to sleep without crying myself there.

So I guess the not so funny thing about depression is that it either eats you alive or you grow from it and that’s the choice you have to make.

Life.

I feel as though I have so much on my mind and yet I have nothing to say.

I have a lot of regrets in life, and while I know I have no way of going back and re-doing things or fixing the things I’ve done, I can’t help but dwell on the past.

I can’t help but think of what life could have been if I hadn’t met Brandon, if we moved to quesnel like mom wanted to so many years ago. I can’t help but to imagine the life I could be living if this life hadn’t turned out this way. Would I be a mom? Would my anxiety and depression still linger? If I hadn’t been so quick to want to grow up, to throw away something so special to a male who was confused about his sexuality maybe I wouldn’t feel like I was inferior. And like I’ve said before I understand that he was born that way, that I didn’t “turn him gay” but somethings stick and eat away at you no matter or irrational they may sound. If I didn’t live here, maybe I would of treasured my time with my grandma more, spent more time listening to her talk and maybe if I wasn’t in denial about my dads illness I would have spent more time with him too, because sadly I know very little about who he was. I only know he liked individually wrapped hotdogs, ‘dads’ cookies, Red Robins coffee, working on trucks, smoking and my mom. I never looked to get to know him, I just mistook his demeanor as being mean and I wish I didn’t, and maybe if I had taken the time to get to know him I wouldn’t of tried to drink away my denial. Maybe I wouldn’t have met Kayla. Perhaps I wouldn’t of drank so much, laid in that bed and my trust in people wouldn’t of been stolen. My entire life could have been so different and that’s all I can really think of. How badly my life turned out. How a series of extremely unfortunate events dominoed to what I am today, or perhaps what I’m not.

I never wanted to be the person I am.

I never wanted to be 26 with no husband, no kids, no nothing, working part time at a retail store. & I heard it all before “Well then Donna, change something” “Its your life your the only one who can change it”, But its not that easy; and yes I’ve heard I’m just making excuses and yes I’ve been told that I just don’t want it enough but what the world doesn’t understand – let alone what I don’t completely understand – is that I don’t know how to change it. I’m so deep in this hole that I don’t know which way is out. I don’t know how to get over the past or how to move on. I’ve thrown around the idea of going to therapy, I’ve brought it up to my doctors, I’ve talked to a handful of people about everything and anything and yet it doesn’t do anything to help me. It doesn’t help me move on from these feelings, it just makes me feel weaker.

And even if I change my life, fall in love, get married my broken body may never be able to carry a child.

I’m broken goods in so many ways what man would ever want someone like me? I don’t even want me, or love me to be completely honest. I often wonder why people even waste their time with me, why people would like spending time with me or why I’m wasting space on earth when I’m nothing but a failure, a loser, a mooch.

I think about that a lot, how maybe the world would be better off without me, how maybe my death would free my mom from this city and she’d be able to live her life freely. How everyone would be better off. At least if I was dead I’d be able to love up on my jaybug one last time, and at least I’d be able to see my grandma, my dad, my uncle doug, so many people…

I just need a change so badly

but anyways, I should get ready for work..

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July 18 2015 – One year ago

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I’m writing this early ’cause come monday I’ll be to emotional.

12 months ago.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Waking up, feeling a sense of uneasiness. But that was nothing new once we knew the day was rapidly approaching.

I remember missing a phone call from my mom and panic stirred in my mind and body. I remember shaking trying to get a hold of her, only to be answered by a shaky, tear filled voice, telling me “Dad died”. My strong and resilient dad’s heart stopped beating. I remember, vaguely, hanging up the phone and dropping to the couch. Unable to really comprehend what I just heard. I picked up my phone, unsure of what to do. Unsure if I should call work or just go in, unsure if i should call or text that my dad died, unsure if I should let people know. Unsure because it didn’t feel real.

I’ve learned that I cannot deal with death..

It didn’t feel when mom came home puffy eye’d from crying and I hugged her and it didn’t feel real when the funeral director sat in our living room talking about the cremation process. It didn’t feel real when I went to work and had a beautiful plant and card from my boss & co-workers.  It just didnt 1930894_29230184671_3854_n.jpgfeel like real life. It felt like a bad dream I’ve had 10,000 times and I couldnt allow myself to accept that is was real. I stayed in denial for a long time. It didnt hit me, or I suppose i didn’t deal with it until one day I realized it was true. I cant recall the exact moment, or what it was. It may have been the christmas music, or my 25th birthday or a combination of time and the seasons changing. But it hit me hard. He was gone, gone forever. I went from the girl with the dad that was sick, to a woman whose father had passed. My whole world changed in that moment and I become angry.

I was angry because my dad who never really drank or did drugs, my dad who loved his wife and his girls, who did anything possible to be a good person was handed a death sentence. His body betrayed him, God betrayed him. I was angry because his crack head brother was still alive and he wasnt. I was angry because my mom lost her husband and bestfriend, I was angry because we lost our dad. I was angry because if i ever have children they will never know their grandpa, just like I didnt. I was angry because people kept telling me they were sorry. I always wondered what “I’m sorry” was suppose to do, we say sorry to apologize for something, did you inject this awful disease into my dads body? Is it your fault? I never needed the generic answer and thats all I seemed to get.  I became angry because although it happened months ago, I was grieving the death of my dad and no one understood why I was still so emotional about it.  I felt alone. I mentally and emotionally broke and did things I am not proud of, things I’m still dealing with the consequences of. It took a long time for me to stop being angry, I still get angry about things, but after a long talk with my mom I was able to accept that his body is finally without pain. I cherished the good memories, the very few things we had in common. Jayda was one of _MG_0934them, the only thing I ever wanted was a small dog and he found one for me. And he loved her, and she loved him. She was my little piece of my dad and I was blessed to have her..

A month ago I lost Jayda and the grief I feel about losing her is 100 times the pain of losing my dad and I have no idea why. Perhaps because I was holding on to that little bit of my dad I had left, and now they’re both gone and I feel lost again.

 

Hey Dad.

How’s heaven? I bet its beautiful above the clouds, away from the pain and sorrow this awful world is experiencing. I hope your free from all the pain you felt, and that you are happy. We miss you, we miss having you here. 

I know I said it to you already, but I want to thank you for everything you did for all of us. I want to thank you for showing me what a real man should be. This year has been hell. Everything is different and my heart is so broken. Not only for me but for our entire family. 

I miss how things use to be, but right now, Im missing the little baby dog you gifted me. I hope you two have found each other, and shes sitting on your lap eating cookies off your shirt and chewing on your feet. I hope you guys are both healthy and happy, running around and working on cars. Jayda loves coffee so I hope your sharing with her! I miss you both so much, I dont know how to live without both of you. Please give my guidance daddy. Please help me overcome this. 

I Love you, I miss you and I’ll see you when its my time to resign in heaven with you all. 

Donna

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