Tag Archives: dear diary

My Father

12 Feb

Dear Diary,

While I’m on a writing roll this evening, I might as well continue to air my deepest, darkest thoughts in the hope it will make me feel better. There’s nobody in my life I feel like I can talk to about these things, so right now you will have to feel the full brunt of my thoughts and I don’t even feel the slightest bit apologetic about that.

I don’t know where to start when I try to describe my dad. He has so many sides to him and he’s adept at keeping certain ones close to his chest. He can be loving, helpful and caring, but he also favours sticking his head in the sand and keeping his distance when things become too difficult for him.

Financial support is one thing, but when it comes to the emotional kind I’m left high and dry. We can sit down and chat about The Beatles or what we think about the latest movie releases and I enjoy that type of chatter, yet when it comes time to discuss anything else about my life or his there’s silence. Silence at both ends, followed by a brick wall shooting up from the ground and driving us further apart.

Somewhere along the rocky path of life we’ve lost the skill to interact at any level above that of two friends meeting for a causal chat in a pub. I feel like I don’t want him to know any of the thoughts I lay out on these pages because they’re personal, they’re mine and I would rather share them with the rest of the world then him. He doesn’t understand or perhaps he does, but struggles to put his feelings into words?

I don’t want him to sigh heavily and shake his head at me when I say things close to my heart. I just want him to be my dad and tell me everything will be fine and promise me I’ll get through this storm.

Maybe I expect too much from my parents? I’m old enough now to weather my own depression and fight until I’m crowned champion of the world.

But a little support wouldn’t go a miss. Really, it wouldn’t.

– Tasha

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My Mother

12 Feb

Dear Diary,

Sometimes I wonder if I scare my mum. When I break down into tears and sob my heart out, she doesn’t hug me, she doesn’t ask me what’s wrong, she stands there and acts like I don’t even exist. She won’t even look at me and I can almost hear the cogs turning in her head as she tries to find something to distract herself from me: The biggest disappointment of her life.

I often wonder what I did to her in the past that was so terrible. Was it because I was firmly planted on my dad’s side when the arguments used to erupt in the family home? Perhaps all the years I spent at school bored and uninterested, forever in trouble and always skipping classes pushed her a little too far away from me? It can’t be easy giving birth to a child and having such high hopes for her, only for the girl to never reach her true potential or even make a mark on the world.

At times I’m left wondering if there is any point at all in me trying to forge a relationship with her. We fight like crazy and I feel like I’ve ruined her life. I’ve heard the line,” We’re too alike,” being uttered before but if I ever had a daughter who was hurting as badly as I am right now, nothing would stop me from comforting her until the pain started to lift and the sun began to shine.

I don’t need words or the moments when I overhear her saying she doesn’t want to spend time with me because I don’t help myself and I’m too negative. Tonight my heart broke for the very last time and the conclusion I reached is I’m in this fight alone. My family are background characters and I’m the main act. I might be an emotional wreck sometimes, there can be snatches of pain so deep I feel like I’m being buried alive, but I’ll conquer this fucking illness and then I will sit down and think about this properly.

The possibility my mum is frightened by what I might end up doing to myself haunts my very thoughts. If that’s the reason she’s pushing me further anyway, then I can understand it. But it still hurts having to fight this all alone. It hurts and I’m so tired of it.

– Tasha