kleeon

-Jehu

I'm very introverted, so loneliness was usually not a big problem for me. But now I feel like I just need some more people to talk to. Just something else to do besides work.

How do you all do it?

Continuing from this post: https://hexbear.net/post/2636649

First of all, thank you guys for all the hugs and all the stories you shared with me. It's good to know I'm not alone.

I think writing down my thoughts like this really helped me to process some of my feelings. I told my best friend I haven't spoke to in months how much I appreciate him. I shared some more tender moments with my mum. I was finally able to get some decent sleep. So I'd like to write some more.

The biggest thing that is eating away at me right now is how I could have been a better son. He had some health issues that he clearly didn't want to talk about. Every time I tried asking him, he would either be vague, tell me that it's pretty much been fixed or just ignore the question. I think he was doing it so I wouldn't worry about him. Declining health of a close relative is a deeply terrifying subject and I was too much of a pussy to dig any further into it. I'm sure I could have helped with some of his medical expenses. Maybe I should have been more assertive when we talked about it? Maybe I should have secretly slipped him some money through my uncle so that he wouldn't feel guilty about taking money from me? I know it no longer matters, but I just can't stop thinking about it.

And I think he felt a very similar way about being a better dad to me. Throughout my childhood he was often too busy, too broke, too drunk to be there for me at some important moments in my life. And I could tell he felt deep guilt about it. He spent all these years trying to make up for it. Every time we met, he would get me something nice, he would give me life advice, he would recommend me a cool book to read, just generally make me smile when I was down. I just wish I had one extra minute to tell him how much I appreciate everything he has done for me. That despite everything, he raised a wonderful person.

We were both fuck ups in our own unique ways and I think we shared this unspoken knowledge between each other.

My mum said something important to me yesterday. She advised me to think about all the positives as well as all the negatives. So here goes.

He was an alcoholic. It certainly was the biggest single cause of his death. And this is the one thing I 100% cannot blame myself for. I'm not the one who started it. I'm not the one who perpetuated it. And I can't fix someone else's addiction - I wouldn't know where to start. Again, I could have done some stuff. Maybe I should have spoken up that one time when I felt uncomfortable about my uncle pouring him an extra drink. Would that have changed anything though? Nope, no chance of that. I'm just not nearly strong enough to fix something like this. My mum gave up on trying to fix him a while ago and she's sure as fuck stronger than me.
I'm not sure how his alcoholism affected me personally, but seeing your dad drunk as a small kid could not be good for you. I think this is the reason why I always try to stay away from alcohol. And in a way, I'm thankful to him for that too - he gave me an excellent example of what not to do.

Now, regarding my mum. She definitely got the short end of the stick here. He was never physically abusive AFAIK, but there were a lot of more """normal""" marital discord stuff between them. You know how it be, at least some of you do. She has a seemingly endless supply of awful stories to tell. This woman really went through a lot while raising me. And even though I can empathise with her perspective, I just cannot bring myself to hate him. No even a little bit. We were so similar in so many ways that hating him would be equivalent to hating myself. It just doesn't compute.

I guess one thing I should do is to keep some more of my mum's perspective in mind while I'm grieving.

It was so sudden... He wasn't young. He wasn't in great health. But still, seeing this man who I had so much fun with just a week prior lay motionless on the floor was not something I was prepared for, to say the least.

When I got the bad news a couple of days ago, I felt absolutely nothing. And I hated myself for it. When I got there, I had to fake every emotion. Put on a sad face, keep your head down, act like how a normal person would in this situation. Even seeing his dead body didn't make me feel anything. It just felt like another normal day. I kept asking myself: How come the death of someone I love so much doesn't affect me? What's wrong with me? Am I a psychopath?

The next day, while I was going through files on his computer, it all hit me. He really was gone, and he's not coming back. Never again would we laugh together about some dumb movie we watched. Never again would we talk about video games we've been playing. Or shoot random Gravity Falls references at each other. Or argue about Lord of the Rings lore. I lost such an amazing friend, a man who gave so much of his soul to me. I don't think I've ever cried so hard in my entire life. It's a relief to know I'm not insane. I could barely finish writing this paragraph because I begun crying again.

One thing I learned is that five stages of grief is not just some pop-psych nonsense, It is completely real. And let me tell you: Bargaining really fucks with you. It's an endless cycle of questions that cannot be answered. What if we met just a bit more frequently? What if I gave him this gift just a couple of days earlier? What if I'd given him a phone call on the day it happened? Is there any set of circumstances that could have saved him? And for how long? And all that blame... How much of it was my fault? All of it? None of it? I have no idea. My brain has turned into a soup of contradicting emotions. All I can do right now is to distract myself so as to not think about it too much.

I guess now I have Depression to look forward to. Awesome. I must get through this.

Don't know why I felt the need to write this on here, but here it is. Thank you for reading.