jueves, 19 de febrero de 2015

The year I lost myself... and other things

Last year was tough. Very. I've had bad years. Other not so bad. But last year... last year was awful. 
You never think you're going to lose something... or someone. I mean, I've lost many things, some important, some not so much. My brain works in mysterious ways, and sometimes my thoughts send me away... to a galaxy far far away from me, aaand... that's when I lose things. I space and then forget that I had money in my hand and I dropped it or that I left my iPod in the bathroom (for no special reason) and start to panic and think I've lost it. 
I have lost loads of things over the years, but last year I lost: socks, pens, books, movies, money, time, effort, my dog (for a brief moment), friendships, inspiration, documents, and many, many other things. Just because I spend too much time in the world inside my head.
Daydreamers people call us. I call myself: "Compulsive thinker and dreamer with moments of illumination". Pretty weird, huh?
Well, I am, I'm a weird person. And a good one... I think... yeah, I'm a good person, I mean, I have my moments like everybody else, but in general I'm nice... but last year... last year I became a horrible person, someone I never thought I could be. I became a bright green toxic waste monster that glowed. Badly. I could't even stand myself. I hated me. And everything and everyone around me. Sounds terrible, doesn't it? Well, that was me, a toxic waste monster that walked and thought compulsively. 
But it wasn't all my fault, you know? Before you say: "oh, there she goes, blaming everyone but herself", I did blame myself, a lot, all the time, I lost sleep because of it. I even lost my hair (not all of it, but stress and hair don't go together). Stress became my best friend, and it wasn't pretty. I got really depressed and gained weight. I isolated myself from the people that really cared about me. Even from my own family. I distanced myself from the most important people in my life. It's a mistake I will regret for the rest of my existence.
When I say it wasn't entirely my fault it's because I tend to "over-help" (I don't know if that's even a word but it kinda descibes what I'm trying to say) the people I love, in this case, a.k.a. my friends. I'm the kind of person that considers her friends family. Treats them as such, is there for them, helps whenever they need. I'm there, you know, always. But when you find out that your so called "friends" have been using you and talking behind your back and making your life (and job... yeah, I worked with some of them) a living hell, you start to become a bright green toxic waste monster that glows.
It's sad and it hurts like putting lemon on a wound. It stings and breaks your heart. It makes you question yourself, and then you start thinking that maybe you're not such a good person, you're not a loyal and trustworthy friend. That you are not a friend at all. To anyone. Not even to yourself. 
I know I've made mistakes... LOADS... but when the people you surround yourself with only look at what you did wrong and don't look at themselves, that's when you start to become that glowing monster that you hate. You start to defend yourself from your "friends" instead of reasoning with them. When they only hear what the want to hear, and see only what they want, you hurt, because they doubt you, they diminish you so they can feel and think they're better than you. I know sometimes life's a competition, but this is a whole load of crap. Seriously. Being betrayed over and over and over... and over again, made me want to seek phsycological help. I started to think that I was all that was wrong with this world (add to that the hormones and the menstrual cycle... nuclear bomb).
I'm not perfect, noone is. But some people... MAN! SOME PEOPLE! They think everything they do is perfect, and they manipulate, and twist everything to make it look like they are always right... sorry, the bright green toxic waste monster that glows tried to escape.
Anyway, I became a horrible person, and I hated everything about me. I cried... A LOT... I felt as if I had the universe over my shoulders (exaggerate much?). I cried over people who didn't care for me, and I took it on the people who did, a.k.a. my family. 
I wanted to be alone. The memories of the past 3 years, of all of the friends that I lost, sometimes for being stupid and proud, sometimes because they SUCKED, took me to a very, very dark place. I lost myself. 
And then... I lost my dad. Losing someone that important makes everything seem small, tiny, practically inexistent. I spent the whole year sulking and being depressed, instead of being with him. Instead of spending time with my dad I was wasting my time in a job that I started loving and ended up hating, hanging out with people that didn't care for me, ignoring and pushing away one of the most important people in my whole entire life: MY FATHER.
I had lost my father and I didn't know what to do. I still don't. I miss him every second. I miss his laugh, him waking me up to have breaksfast together, defending me when I argued with my mom. I miss him being there for me... always. He was one of the few that had faith in me, that trusted that I could be the best in everything that I do, even if it was just pouring him a glass of water.
I lost MY DAD. And I was crying over some stupid people because they didn't appreaciate me. Didn't care for me... He did, a lot, he loved me so much. And I loved him. And the sad part is that I took him for granted. I didn't tell him: "I love you" enough. I didn't spend as much time with him as I should have. And all because I was too busy to be there for him. I was too caught up with my own problems to be there. 
I hate myself, I'm not gonna lie. I do. I wish I could've done more to help him when he got sick. But I was scared and angry. He'd gotten sick so many times I got really pissed when he didn't care for his health and ended up in the hospital over and over again.
I remeber that day like it was yesterday. Coming back from work and hearing my mom say: "Brenda, come upstairs quick, your dad isn't feeling well". I ran up the stairs and found him laying on my bed saying he felt dizzy and he couldn't move. We took him to the emergency room and the doctors told us the problem was his blood preasure and that he was dehydrated. So, after hydrating him and giving him medication to regulate his preasure, they released him.
On the way home he kept complaining that he had a headache, but we told him it was normal, like the doctor said, because of the rise in his blood preasure. But he knew something was wrong. He knew and we didn't listen. Because, you know, you're supossed to trust doctors, aren't you?
3 am and my mom wakes me up in a hurry and tells me to call an ambulance. My dad was really sick. A blood clot had formed in his brain and it was killing him. But we didn't know.
We moved as fast as we could and took him to the ER again. The doctors didn't believe what my dad told them, that it'd gotten worse, that he couldn't control his movements... man, he couldn't even talk right, and not even then did they do something to stop what was happening, or at least, try.
My dad went into a coma that very night, and he never woke up. I didn't get to talk to him while he was still awake. Say I'm sorry for being so selfish, for worrying and crying about stupid people and stupid things that didn't matter. Now what mattered was that my father had died. That I had lost him. That even tough I was with him until the very end, I couldn't do anything to make him better. No one could. 
So now when I cry, I don't do it because of the people that hurt me, life will find a way to give them what they deserve, I cry because I lost my dad, my friend, the one who loved me most.
I've been dealing with depression and anxiety for the past few months. My two best friends and my family (my mom, my brother and my dog) are the only ones that know what's really happening with me, and are the only ones that are helping me get through it all, and I am helping my mom and my brother grieve. My mom lost her husband of 41 years, my brother lost his best friend and his idol, I lost my dad, the one who loved me most.
So now I live one day at a time. Some days are good, some are bad, but I'm still here. Two weeks ago I got a memorial tattoo for my dad. It itches like hell but, important rule: "don't scratch or you'll ruin the design". And of course my mom almost fainted when she saw it and got angry and said: "it's too big", but she understands, she gets that I needed to do it, even if she doesn't like tattoos. It's a process, grieveing, and everyone lives it differently. This is my process. Getting tattooed and writing in my blog. Telling, to whoever wants to read, my story. The story of how last year I lost myself... and other things...

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