The 5 Stages Of Grief For The Undead

First denial.
I wandered through a heavy fog of denial for over a decade.              
The vision of a presumed happy childhood hid the gloomy truth.
Not my family. Not my father.                     
Every lie he threw my way I grasped.                                                   
I didn’t want to see the shroud of darkness covered our family in.
I was safe in sweet lies and denial.
 Anger set in.
When the fog cleared I gave into an anger I had never felt before.
Angry at myself. Angry at my father. Angry at my mother.
Angry at the world.
I became numb.
A rage consumed my body whole.
Lying underneath was a hurt little girl wondering where her father went.
On the surface was a woman betrayed and used.
Bargaining was short lived.
I blamed myself.
If only I had spoken up sooner.
If only I had tried to help.
I bargained with my God.
Let him live. Let him get better. Let him be the man I knew.
All I want is for him to be better.
He saw me as the enemy and his dealers as saviors.
I gave up.
My battle was lost.
Depression is an old friend of mine.
Nights spent crying myself to sleep.
Visions of my once loving father lying in a coffin.
The nightmares were never ending.
Each day I watched him grow weaker and weaker.
The only child he loved was heroin.
My heart grew heavy.
My love grew distant.
Then… nonexistent.
 Acceptance came naturally.
Suddenly the realization that the person I loved no longer exists.
All that remains is an empty shell that resembles my father.
Everything that made him my hero has vanished.
I accept that I will never see that person again.
I’ve mourned the person he was.
I’ll miss him.
I do miss him.


-Asia Aneka Anderson
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