I feel as if i am in a black hole.
Not like a hole which whirls you around and takes you to a parallel universe, but a hole as in a depressingly lonely, dark, hatred-filled hole; having nothing better to do than bite my fingernails down to their purple, bleeding, peeling nail beds.
Guys don’t like me. Although I’m sure you’re not surprised due to my dark, yet poetic imagination. I am kind of a loner at school, but at home i have heaps of friends. Their names are Jacquie and Lauryn and Brad and Skylar… and they also happen to be my neighbors.
I did used to have a lot of friends though, before my dad died that is. Ever since he passed, things have been different, and i mean a lot different. Before i was interested in pink and parties, horse riding and BFF’s. Now it’s black and piercings and being incredibly antisocial. My mum thinks i am depressed and that i need help. She wants me to be like a “normal modern day teenage girl”, whatever that is. She wants me to make some friends, go to parties, get a boyfriend and look at little kids as cute and not little nuisances who have nothing better to do than ask “are we there yet?”.
Unfortunately for her though, this is who i am now. This is who I’m supposed to be and if people don’t like me for that then they don’t deserve me.
It was morning when it happened. My dad was unwell. We didn’t know what was wrong. He wouldn’t speak, he wouldn’t get out of bed, and he wouldn’t talk to me. It was like he was already gone. Mum and i took him to the hospital, there were people yelling, people running around and shouting things i couldn’t understand. The nurses followed by the doctors, rushed my dad into a room. They wouldn’t let me see in; they wouldn’t let me see my daddy. I had no idea what was going on.
Was he going to be okay? Was i ever going to see him again? There were so many questions flowing in my head but with no answers.
It was the following day that i got my answers. My dad had cancer. They said the tumor was on his brain and that they had to operate right away. They still wouldn’t let me talk to him. He had a 79% chance of living and yet they wouldn’t let me talk to him? All i could do was sit out in the lonely corridor with mum and cry.
After that; my life, my happiness, my dad was all gone. In just two days i had lost everything that meant something to me. That’s when i stopped talking to my family and my friends.That’s when i lost contact with the world. That was when i decided that my bedroom made the perfect home.
The few weeks after that were all a blur. days flew by so quickly until the day of the funeral. Mum was depressed. Her and my dad were the type of couple that met in high school, married young and spent the rest of their lives together happily in love.
Since i was his daughter, i was asked to prepare a eulogy for my dad’s funeral. I had to be polite yet say exactly what i knew my dad would want me to say. When i stepped up to the lectern i willed myself not to cry as i began to speak.
“Hello. As i stand here, i see friends and relatives that have traveled a great distance to be here for my dad. I am thankful and really quite impressed at how he must have impacted your lives. I can only speak for myself but when i think of how he impacted my life, the first word that comes to mind is respect.
When someone you love passes away, there is a strong temptation to remember them perhaps a little too well. Wrong doings are forgotten, offenses are forgiven. Only the most shining characteristics of our loved ones make it into the version of them that we keep with us when they depart.
My father is not dead, his soul still lives, lives on in a higher plane, and in his loved ones hearts.
Dad you taught me the most important lesson, what life and love is.
Dad you will be missed by many.
Mum will miss having her best friend by her side.
Friends will miss your corny jokes and your company.
I will miss my father, the source of my convictions.
I will miss my inspiration.
Someday i will find my prince, but dad you will always be my king.”
After the funeral i couldn’t go home. I couldn’t listen to my mum weep and whimper over my fathers death. I couldn’t listen to her say she was fine when i knew she wasn’t.
I decided to go to the place that my father and i spent hours at each week. He called it “Our Parallel Universe”.
I write, and that’s pretty much it.