To reiterate an exhausted and lackluster explanation, 5 years ago (January 29th), my dad died. The anniversary slumbers in the back of my consciousness, ready at any moment to sabotage a perfectly normal conversation.
“Hey Caitlin, what movie should I watch?”
“How’d you decide so quickly?”
“It was the last movie I watched with my dad.”
And cue the depressing silence.
Nothing is more obnoxious to me than this truth: no matter how hard I try, at best this week will not be completely disastrous. If I really behave, I won’t lean on medications as a way of processing my feelings. If I take a lot of deep breathes, I won’t break down crying in class. Everything is centered on damage control.
But I feel angrier this year. I sort of want to destroy my room a la Pink Floyd’s The Wall, but that sounds like way too much physical exertion. Part of me wants to play up the melodrama; message random people “I need you now!” But that also sounds kind of dumb.
Why does talking about your dead father have to be such a buzz kill?
I’ve experienced a great deal of pain in my life, and emotionally I have been in very dark places. I work hard to be average, content, and not clinically depressed. It hurts to have to try extra, just because the calendar says so.
Sitting here, I wonder what I’m supposed to do when things get rough? Do I pretend to be satisfied? American society says I should aim for glory and ecstasy, but I’m just trying to make it to tomorrow. I think it should be okay to be upset that you’re weekly goal is “for things to not blow up in your face.” I would like to believe that my AfterTalk pieces do not always have to detail progress, and that my loved ones/readers can respect that.
This year, instead of attempting to be mature, I write an ode to things sucking. I feel like crap this week, I miss my dad, and I’m angry.
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