So last Monday, I sat here on my bed and started writing a letter.
"Dear dad..."
My therapist suggested it. Just write a letter. He might never see it. That doesn't have to be decided now. Just write a letter and tell him about your experiences as his son.
And so I did. It wasn't venomous but it was direct and sprawling. I wrote about how I have always felt like a disappointment to him. How I was terrified of him. How all of my relationships have suffered because of this. How I still struggle to believe that I have value, that I am lovable.
While typing away on the third or fourth page, I received a phone call.
It was my mom. My dad had just been rushed to the hospital.
He had blood clots in both lungs, as well as at least one near his heart. He couldn't breathe.
My mom wanted my brother and I there. Just in case, she said. To say goodbye if we needed to.
I finished the letter and then smoked a giant bowl. I couldn't process what was happening.
My brother and I left early the next morning. 11 hours of driving. We arrived at the hospital around 5.
Around 5:10, I started feeling really hot and nauseated. I went to the sink to splash some water on my face.
I awoke a few minutes later, surrounded by nurses and doctors. I had a seizure. I had soiled myself. I had foamed at the mouth. I had hit my head.
They put me in the ER to make sure I was stable. I was. They let me go. Get that checked out, they told me. I will, I said.
They thought that I just fainted because my dad was getting blood drawn at the time.
I told them no. I never saw any blood. I don't faint at the sight of blood anyway.
I knew what the cause was. My fainting and seizure were due to looking at this man I barely know in an oxygen mask, looking more frail than I have ever seen him.
I fainted because I could not handle what was happening.
My dad recovered over the night. They figured out that it was his medication that was causing the blood clots. They found another medication. He is going to be fine.
But I have found that I am unable to deal with any of this.
My abusive father that I am estranged from, the one that I was nervously preparing to confront, almost died.
My own body continues to betray me.
I can't get out of bed.
I don't want to.
I have barely gotten out of bed since I got back home on Thursday.
I think I just need sleep. I don't know. I don't care. Sleep is what I am going to do.
I will deal with all of this later.
9:55 a.m. - 2015-11-28
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