Mon, 26 Feb 2007
I haven’t stopped crying for 5 hours… this isn’t healthy I just want him back in my life and he doesn’t want to and I have to realise it:/ nothing is going to be the same again. I don’t even want to live anymore.
This is a blog post that I posted in February of 2007 when I was 15. It is about my father and how badly I wanted him to be there in my life. I felt so alone and scared I wanted to die. I didn’t think my life would ever be normal again. Below is a recollection of an incident that happened one day at school
Again I am up at 5:00 AM after only falling asleep at 1:00 AM. I feel so depressed but yet I can’t sleep, it is almost like I am addicted to my own misery. I make a fresh pot of coffee and I begin scrolling through Xanga reading depressing quotes that I feel I can relate to. I listen to depressing music. I begin thinking about my day to come around 6:00 AM. My mother is still sleeping and my father is nowhere to be found. I haven’t seen him since the day before yesterday. I go to the kitchen to grab something to eat but the thought of food makes me feel sick. I go back to my room and look in the mirror at my fragile body. I don’t want to not eat but I feel so depressed that it seems my appetite has been suppressed by the aching of my heart and the thoughts in my mind.
I get ready for school and start to walk around 7:00. I conveniently live next door to the school and enjoy getting their early to get away from my house. I enjoy school although I do not feel I fit in. I recently have lost my two best friends who seem to know that there is something wrong with my family. Sometimes I feel I do not belong among these people and that I am a nuisance to everyone around me. I enjoy my teachers however and I enjoy having control of my choices to do my homework and to participate. It feels like the one part of my life I had in control. I wasn’t the smartest, but I knew I always put in way more effort than anyone else, and teachers always notice that.
I was in the third period and my anxiety began kicking in. Something just didn’t feel right. The phone rang in my social studies class. “Leanna, please go to the office,” the teacher said.
As I entered the office I saw the secretaries, my vice principal, my principal, my tech ed teacher, Mr. Rota, and a few familiar peers faces. The principal called me into his office explaining my dad was here. My heart dropped. Why would my dad be here? This is my safe haven. Is my grandma okay? Is my dad high?
I enter the office. My dad is sweating profusely. My dad grabs my hand as I sit down. He begins talking fast. He explains how badly he wants to take me to Disney World. He is looking at my principal with glossed eyes, I am looking back and forth from my dad to my principal to see if it is so obvious to an outsider how high he is. I am not sure.
“I know you have said this Mr. Olbinsky. It is great how much you care about your daughter”. I am embarrassed and mad and sad and more than anything scared. I want him to leave. I don’t know what to do. My dad ends the conversation by saying the importance that he dismisses me from class. I tell him I have a test in my next class and that I can’t miss it.
I go back to class. I want to cry. I am shaking. My one escape has been contaminated. I feel so sick to my stomach I go to the nurses’ office and burst into tears. I tell her my stomach hurts and I would like to call my uncle to go home. I call my uncle and he says he will come and pick me up. The nurse asks me to lay down in the back while I am waiting for him. Two minutes later my principal enters the nurse’s office and calls me back down to the office to speak with him and the vice principal. At this point, I am still crying and Mr. Rota is giving me a helpless look. I sit down at the desk across from my principle.
He says, “now Leanna, your father was just here.”
“Yes I know,” I said.
“Why didn’t you just leave with him?”
“I don’t know I just didn’t know that I wasn’t feeling well till I went back to class.”
“But you said you had a test? Is that true?”
“No, I’m sorry,” I said.
“You don’t have to be sorry, but that means that you lied to your father and that you didn’t want to leave with him. Am I right?” he looked at me as if he had just made a connection. I looked at him as if I were begging him to please stop trying to ask me anything else.