Missing Like You

THREE

Diary Entry
Tuesday August 16, 2016

Dear Diary,

I've always wanted to keep a diary, always wanted to start writing on a blank page with the words dear diary. It's so personal yet impersonal simultaneously. (But also makes me feel kind of crazy because I am literally having conversations with myself.) I have so much going on in my brain, so much chaos and thoughts. So today I had the splendid idea of starting a diary! It can be a form of therapy I guess. I can't really afford therapy. So instead, I can write down all my problems in here! Only downside to that is, you can't really respond. But I guess I don't always need a response. Sometimes life doesn't have the answers that I require – only I do. (Wow, that's kind of deep.) So from writing in here, I can document my life, my thoughts, and my problems. I may not get an instant solution, but at least it won't be cooped up in my brain any longer. Letting it out and expelling all the bad from my mind will be a good thing. Better late than never!

I guess we should begin with brief introductions, seeing as you are going to be my new closest companion in life. (I don't have many friends, can you tell?) My name. I have a few nicknames because I don't like my full name, but I mostly go by Sandy. It's cute and reminds me of the beach. My mother started calling me that when I was young and I loved hearing my name in her mouth, the implications it brought were golden like the sun. If my name had a flavor, it would definitely be sweet. Sweet like Sandy. Kind of like candy. But that sounds like a stripper name. And I'm not a stripper.

I just turned nineteen, which means pretty much nothing. I'm a year ahead of everyone else because I was held back a grade when I was a kid. Nineteen is kind of an irrelevant age. I won't be legal for another two years and then maybe I'll report back to you with more exciting news.

I live in a tiny apartment with just my dad. I don't have any siblings so I grew up quite lonely. My parents didn't plan to have me. I was an accident. But not a mistake, never a mistake. They were young when they became parents, just nineteen! So now I'm officially the same age that they were when they had me.

I kind of put a little dent in their life plans. They had just graduated high school and wanted to start college. And then I came along, their perfect little accident. My mother always told me how she wanted to go to school to become a vet, but she couldn't because of the pregnancy and everything. So while my dad went off and got an education, my mom stayed home and raised me. She said she didn't regret a single second of it because she wouldn't haven't traded being with me for anything. I don't know if I believed her or not, but that's at least reassuring to hear. I know I sure as hell wouldn't want to have a baby right now and ruin my life. I couldn't even afford it if I wanted to. It's just me and dad and we can barely scrape by enough for groceries each week.

My mom taught me a lot growing up. We were really close. But when I was fourteen, she was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. She spent the next year getting chemo and radiation and she eventually got better and I thought everything would be fine again. No more doctor's offices or hospital visits. No more midnight drives in the car or waking up in an unfamiliar place. No more going to sleep and wondering if she'd make it through the night or not. It all got better. Things got really bad really fast. Her health was declining and the treatments that proved beneficial in previous times weren't working. Mom and dad were really stressed because the hospital bills were really high and we didn't have a lot of money to begin with. But dad said he would be in debt for the rest of his life as long as mom got her treatment. So we continued on with everything, paying for things that we couldn't afford. And in the end, it wasn't enough. She died when I was sixteen.

That is the hardest thing I'll ever have to go through in my life, so part of me is glad that it's over. Not the dying part, just the hard part. At least now I know that anything bad that comes after that will never even compare to the hurt and heartbreak I felt after losing mom. I'm kind of numb to everything now, like I don't feel things the same way that other people do anymore. I think when she died, a part of myself died as well. I know I'll never be the same again. It's kind of tragic, but there's nothing I can do about it. I don't even really care, that's the thing. I don't care because all I feel is numbness around me. Nothing hurts and nothing matters. I think I'd rather be this way than to be hyperaware of my emotions. Oversensitivity hurts. Caring hurts. Loving hurts. Emotions hurt. At least this way, I feel nothing at all. And nothing is better than feeling something.