Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.) (lantichristo) wrote,
Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.)
lantichristo

Dear diary ... time does not heal ...

I went to a job interview.
I met my sis to get some paperwork to sign for my mother's house.
I met Anna and had a quick chat.


I felt kind of tired to do the things I was supposed to do this evening.
I came home to find a letter from the Greek Embassy about my father's death.
That led me to a glass of wine to calm my nerves.
I started reading my beautiful book, I could not concentrate.


Unfortunately, even when I am trying not to think about him, I am being reminded by the bureaucracy that I must go through ... about his funeral and tenths of paperwork that it's needed to be done. I need to sign papers upon papers reading over and over words like, death, cause of death, place of death, and his name following.

I went to the store bought some food.
I ate and sat with the laptop on my legs, half watching the news, half reading my e-mails, half fixing my tags here on my LiveJournal. I have many photography and dear diary posts with no tags so I was just adding tags without thinking much, when I reached November ... and posts about my father started appearing...
I started crying again and my heart filled with such sadness...
When does it end?
The sadness. I feel I am getting sadder and sadder as time goes by ... Time does not heal .... Time strangles you ... time does not heal ... I feel like I am drowning and time keeps pushing my head in the water ... time does not heal ...


Now as I was scrolling down my old posts I saw his face. First on a picture before he got ill. He looked so fat and healthy and happy. And then a picture that he is smiling but he is in such pain ... just a ghost of him left ... and you can see death hovering over him ...
I feel as if someone plugged an invisible cable in my brain and they are broadcasting the worst moments of my father's illness like a cruel documentary about slow tormenting death
...
And I can't concentrate to watch a movie, and I can't concentrate to read anything ... I can hardly concentrate writing this ...
But writing about it is the only time I feel I am letting some steam go. It is my only refuge. And sometimes, like now, I don't write in my little black book, I write here ...
I can't talk to friends about it. I don't want to. Because if I do I will start crying and then I will feel bad for making them uncomfortable. And I feel bad as it is ...
I can't and don't want to talk about it with my boyfriend because he has had enough of it and I don't want to depress him anymore. I want only happy moments with him. Or at least I do not want unhappy moments with him. I can't and do not want to talk about it with mother or my sister ... for various reasons ...

So the only place I can turn to if sometimes I really feel like sharing is here.
To the unknown passenger who might or might not read, who might or might not care. Who may or may not have had the same experience like mine ... losing a loved one in such violent way ...
I know some of you out there have been in my shoes ... And misery loves company in moments like this ... I take comfort knowing this ...



After the tears comes anger.
I am furious at people who get depressed over petty problems.
I keep on erasing people from my life because I just can not stand ingratitude!
People who abuse alcohol, and/or drugs, and tobacco, and bitch about their friends and their children and their parents and their unfaithful spouses ... And life is passing them by ... And all I see in the end is complaining zombies ...

Thank Loki most of my friends are normal people. Then again ... I don't have many friends.
Misanthropes crave the company of other misanthropes and we are not that many.

My father was a people's person. He loved to talk even to complete strangers. It drove me crazy! He was driving me crazy.

Ah, no, it is still too soon ... I can't talk, think, or write about him without crying ...
Now my eyes are so swollen I can't see very well ... I will stop here ...



...
Tags: dear diary, father, sad, writing
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