Easier to Pretend
He’s not exactly dead, but then again he’s not alive either. In a physical sense, yes he is alive, he’s alive and well. Just not to me. When people ask me about him, I say that he is no longer here. They assume that I mean he is dead. And I guess that sometimes I do mean that. It’s easier to just pretend that he is dead, rather than to except the abandonment. Maybe that’s why every time I see him I am slightly shocked, it’s like he came back from the dead for a brief second.
You see, he lives not so far from here…with his girlfriend. I don’t like her and I don’t exactly like him either. I guess it’s ok if I don’t, I’m not really expected to like her. I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here without him. I hate him so much for leaving me and not telling me goodbye. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a goodbye, but he left without saying a word to me.
I was about 9 years old when he left. I don’t remember much from that day, just that I couldn’t believe that he would actually leave. Well, leave without me. I was his girl. He was supposed to always be there for me, but the days leading up to his departure weren’t exactly the best. I remember not speaking to him as much. I remember being scared of him at times. I remember my heart being broken when he drove away when I was in another room. He left and no one bothered to tell me. I ran down the road chasing after him, even though he had left at least an hour prior.
I’m the one who gets blamed for his leaving. It’s all my fault…but how can it be? He’s the one who left me. He’s also the one who never calls, but I guess that isn’t a one-way street, I could pick up the phone and call him, but I don’t. It’s too hard to try, after all the things he’s done—or lack there of. He has broken too many promises, forgotten too many birthdays and Christmases. Then he has the nerve to call me up, no apology or anything, just to ask how I’m doing. I guess it’s something and that’s all I could ask for. Something is much better than nothing. It would help if that something came up more than once every few months.
I love him and he claims the same, but it’s so hard to love someone who is never here—never around when I need him the most. I know it probably isn’t healthy, what I choose to believe, but sometimes I choose to believe that in reality he is dead. It’s easier to love someone who is no longer here—if they are dead. Just like it’s easier for someone not to fulfill a promise when they are dead and literally can’t. He’s my father, but it doesn’t feel like it. Not after he left and didn’t tell me why. Not after he broke those promises that meant so much to me. No, it’s just easier to pretend. Pretend that he died that day…and along with him, so did I.
A/N: This is kinda personal and it's not exactly fiction. This has taken a lot out of me. I think I needed to write this all down, to try to feel slightly better and maybe get over it a bit. In all honest I don't remember a lot about my childhood and I think it may have something to do with my subconsious blocking out the painfull memories.