Day 29

Dear Dad,

My house is still a wreck.  Laundry is piled in its various stages all over the house.  The floors are sticky and dusty at the same time.  And the bathroom is a disaster.

Right now, I’d burn it down and start over; with fewer things, in a smaller space, better organized.  

I’m constantly wishing I was better than who I am right now.  And hoping that I’ll reach some magical place where I’ll be the best possible me.  But I probably never will.  I’ll always want something from myself that I can’t be or do; and Lord knows that I’ll never be good enough.

I want to learn to embrace not being enough while still wanting more.  But that is really hard and something I’m not very sure how to do.  I’m starting to think, though, that doing it might be the key to living…

 

Until tomorrow,

AM

Day 28

Dear Dad,

Today, I went to Whole Foods. I’ve only been one other time.  I started to panic as soon as I started looking up the directions to get there.  It was like a whole new world to me.

I don’t know what it is about doing new things that I hate so much, but I really do not care for it.  Right now in my life, at the tender age of 24, I’ve gotten my anxiety pretty well under control (after 1-2 years of counseling and prayers of release).  But sometimes it really just rears up.

Like what is scary about going to a grocery store?  That sells things that I like?  Yeah, it’s a bit of a drive from this side of town, but it’s not like I’ve never driven to 86th Street before.  Something about not knowing exactly where everything was, or the prices, or what to expect when I got there just made me feel like I couldn’t do it.  I almost didn’t go.

There are so many things I don’t do out of fear still:  be creative– poetry, music, drawing; try to learn new skills; grad school.  I’m still scared I’m not good enough, that people will laugh at me if I try.

I think I’ve been hurt a lot, but I also think I have to keep pushing myself to do hard things.  Even if I fail, at least I’ll have tried.  Ah, how the trite and cliche rings so true…   But really, I’m scared to meet you.  I don’t know if I want to do it.  I’m still trying to figure it out.  You are slightly more intimidating than a new grocery store.

See ya,

AM

15/366

Dear Dad,

I am a highly anxious person highly prone to worrying. Yesterday and today Lazarus had a fever. Zoe was never in her baby life sick, so for him to be so little at 9 months, it really freaked me out.

Well, at first I was okay. But then my MIL was over yesterday when I first noticed his fever, and she was ready to take him into the hospital (not entirely true, but she does have a tendency to be even more worried than I am). And I’m reading a book on vaccinations that describes the different illnesses that the various shots ward against. Almost all of them start out with cold-like symptoms and fever. HELLO! Don’t kids just constantly have cold-like symptoms?! Anyway, I worry even though my gut tells me not to.

I used to get really scared when Zoe was a baby that she would die suddenly of SIDS. (Do babies die “of” SIDS? Is there a different word that should be used there?) Every time she would sleep for longer periods of time, I would think she was dead. One day, when debating whether or not I should go to check on her, I asked Joe what he thought. He said something like, “Well, if you check on her and wake her up, you’ll feel bad about that and wish she was still sleeping; but if she’s dead, she’s already dead and there’s nothing you or I could do about it now.” This may seem absurd, but that really comforted me. I guess just knowing that if it was done, it was already done and there was no fixing it now.

Which is why, generally in life, I am a fatalist. I don’t think there’s any point in doing much because if it was going to happen, it’s going to happen no matter what I do or don’t do.

Okay, I guess I used to be a fatalist. Because, after all, I am searching you out and putting effort into thinking about what I want to do in this situation and about the different outcomes. So, that’s not very fatalistic, I suppose.

I wonder what I’ll think of you if I meet you? I wonder if I’ll just write you off and think you’re lame? I wonder what in the world it is like to get to know your father as a grown adult?

You have 351 more of these “coming” to “you”;
AM

Day 14!

Dear Dad,

I am very sleepy. I need to get into a better habit/routine with these “letters”. Like, maybe write them during the day when my brain works? Although, I feel like my brain only works once a day for about 35 minutes…

Zoe is really crazy when she doesn’t nap. I wonder if I was when I was little? I wonder if your kids are crazy when they don’t nap, too?

Wow, that is really blowing my mind– how can I be that much older than your kids? I mean, assuming those were your kids in that picture on Facebook. What are they, like 10 and 12 or something? And those are (potentially) my siblings! WHAT.

I just can’t even handle the thought right now for some reason. Having undiscovered siblings seems like way too much right now to even think about. Who does that? Who finds out about their much older sister one day?

For some reason, though, I also feel really excited by the idea that I have a brother and sister. Zoe and Laz can have more than one uncle. They could have TWO uncles AND an aunt.

When I was 11, your kids weren’t even born yet. That is just… bizarre.

Welcome to Bizarro World, Pops;
AM

Day 7 makes it a WEEK.

Dear Dad,

I tried to make this title a pun, but I really didn’t want to so I quit.

Sometimes I’m jealous of my own kids for having all that they have; all the things that I never got to. Sometimes I’m sorry that I’m their mother. Sometimes I have a headache for 3 years and would like to sleep for 4 days straight. Sometimes I just need to go to bed, but it’s just depressing thinking that tomorrow will be undoubtedly filled with the same tantrums, wants, and poopy diapers. Sometimes I’m jealous of you for not having to become a father until you were (presumedly) ready.

Mostly, life is hard. Kids ain’t easy. And I’ve got a headache that no Tylenol PM can solve.

I’m glad you don’t know me today.

Bye,
AM