Try Being Me.

Try being me for a day and you’ll know how hard it is to get up each morning. Not just because I despise waking up, but for the few hours I was able to sleep, there’s a chance I was with my Dad. That first sense that I’m awake though, that moment where if you opened your eyes the world would seem watery, that’s when I’ve lost him again. Getting back there is so far away; and sometimes impossible. And I have no choice but to sit up or roll out of bed and live this life without him. What I wouldn’t give to dive back into the depths of dreams where his moustache brushes my cheek with a goodnight kiss or his sandy shoes are beside the door. His sausage sized fingers write misspelled words or he laughs without his false teeth. I kiss Papaya when I get up and tuck her in real tight. There’s a chance she is dreaming of him too and I don’t want to disturb her. Let them be together.

In the mirror I see how old I am now. How the sadness etches my face with sorrow and my eyes look more than ever like those of a beaten puppy. I can put on as much makeup as I want and nothing changes. I’m still in there. I just have on war paint now. Because this is a war; this daily battle. And it’s one I’m losing.

The routine is short and I’m in my car and on my way to work. My Dad would like this car. He’ll never drive in it though. And if he is looking for me I have betrayed him because he won’t recognize this car and won’t be able to find me. I have eluded him unintentionally and I will suffer for it.

Work is mundane. I am not challenged. There’s nothing to focus on. I waste time and perform robotic tasks that require no effort and less skill. Dad sits on my desk painted on a mug. The two of us going to a football game. One of the best night’s of my life. I never dream about it though. Has he forgotten it?

I cried every day at lunch until Papaya made me stop. It was almost four months later when I came home in tears and she had shredded an entire box of tissues. Wispy tear catchers like downy feathers all over my living room. She looked at me. I looked at her. OK, I said. And we cleaned it up. It was the living room. She wants me to live. I can’t, but I didn’t tell her that.

At first I ate because people made me. I loved food before this. Now I eat because it feels good. That’s a disorder in itself. Add it to the list. I don’t eat meat anymore and I wonder if he knows. Once he stopped eating veal because of its journey to his plate. Noble, but he didn’t last long. Is he happy that I’m not contributing to it? I’ll never know.

School takes up every other minute I have. When I’m not doing school I am thinking about school and berating myself for not working on schoolwork – while simultaneously entirely aware that this behavior is an avoidance tactic designed to prevent me from acknowledging what happened. Which I know is unhealthy and in turn I’m consumed with guilt for not giving my Dad that time that he deserves. But I can’t right now. I don’t know when I can. I worry that I will be forced to face this soon, when school is over and I have no excuse and nothing to keep my brain busy. It’s like I’m on a sliding board with no ladder…going down would be so, so easy, but without the steps there’s no way back up. And yet there’s another me at the top, desperately clinging to the wrists of the me that wants to slide, refusing to let go. Not now. Not yet.

Driving home sucks because it was our call time. Now it’s consumed with silence even if the radio is own. Nothing sounds the same. I try to listen for messages in songs that could really be from him, but it doesn’t work. I wish he would just say something.

A few years ago he told me I need to get control of my weight. I should have listened to him then so he didn’t have to have such a fat, careless daughter. I know he didn’t mean it that way, though. I know, without a doubt, that he loved me unconditionally. But he never, ever, in all my life ever commented on how I looked so I must have been extreme. Anyway, I workout five times a week now. Towards the end the trainer says something like “we don’t quit at the end, not when it gets hard.” Oh but we do quit you skinny bitch. We do. Except I don’t. I watch the effect gravity has on my rolls in the mirror while I do those final jump-ropes and say to myself, I will jump as high as you want me to Dad. As high as you want. But it’s never high enough because I still can’t reach him. After each workout, that period where you can’t breathe because your fat is angry and punishing your lungs, I think, WASTE. What did I do all that for? He can’t even see me. I’ve colored my hair and he doesn’t know what I look like now. What have I done? He’ll never recognize me. I’m in control like you said I should be so come see me. I did what you asked. Why haven’t you come to me? Just tell me what else I need to do. Please.

Showers are the worst. They are sadness sanctuaries. I can gush and sob and blame it on a nicked ankle from my razor. As if I shave my legs like I should. If you collected the anguish my drain has absorbed there’d be enough for an ocean where one could sail for ever. The mirror routine is up next and I already made that confession.

Another drive, this time to school. Focus, focus. Listen, pay attention. But I’m easily distracted. I want to tell you about this crazy case. Complain about this teacher. Tell you what I think about this concept. But you’re not there. Where are you? Same thing in reverse. But it’s time to go to bed soon so at least there’s that.

I’m home. Kiss the dogs, scratch Papaya. Tell Yahtzee that my Dad would have loved her. That he does love her, she just doesn’t know it. I wish they had met. She watches me undress and tilts her head. Probably she notes what gravity has done to me and questions my rolls. Sorry Yahtz. I’m trying.

Kisses goodnight all around, turn on my true crime show, lights off, climb in bed. Arrange my pillow nest and tuck Papaya into her spot alongside me. All is right. Except it isn’t. But it could be. If you come to me tonight. If I see you. We can go for ice cream if you want, you love ice cream. Fishing? Let’s go in the ocean like we did that one time. I know I am safe there with you. I don’t mind boating if that’s what you want or let’s just go for a walk. Just come to me, please. I’ll close my eyes and I’ll meet you there. Where ever. Please come this time.