Had a rough week, decided to call it quits with Ashton. Out of respect for her I won't go into detail about it let me just say that I think I need more work on myself. And no, I'm not just brushing the matter aside it is the right thing to do. On a brighter note I submitted The Ward to Apex Book Company earlier this evening, it got to the point where I've read the story over and over and drilled it into my mind and can't think of how to make it better than it is. I am very proud of this one; I put a lot of work into it. It is about a young kid who wakes up in a psychiatric ward to be assaulted by zombies. Cross your fingers and pray that they like the story enough to publish it in their Zombie Anthology. If not though, I'll just have to write something they will take next time.
Anyway back to the summer.
The first day I was allowed to eat in cafeteria was a bit of a mix up, I awoke with my stomach yelling at me to fill it with some breakfast, see I was supposed to head down to the cafeteria however no one told me so I ate one of the breakfasts that was set out on the dining room table, when I finished and my belly was content a nurse told me I was supposed to be down in the cafeteria eating breakfast and at that exact moment a woman in curlers walked into the room and wondered what happened to her meal. Turns out I ate it...well honestly, how the hell was I supposed to know? I went to groups and eventually lunch rolled around, I entered the cafeteria feeling very much like a new kid in high school. I stood nervously in line and waited for a smiling lunch lady to fill my plate with Mediterranean salad and walked away to sit by myself. Ever cut up a piece of chicken with a plastic knife and fork? That shit's tough, the chicken scooted out from under my fork and fell straight into my lap, my face flushed and I looked up to see if anyone had witnessed my buffoonery, a blond girl not three seats away snickered into a napkin. I finished my meal in a lonesome silence and got out of there as fast as possible. I told Matt the story of my woe and he told me that I'd never eat lunch alone again, after that I made new friends an older gentleman from England, his name was Tim, he was tall and had a long purposeful stride. One day, shortly after starting my medication I was eating something that was supposed to be spaghetti and meat sauce, supposed to be! Anyway half way through the meal my stomach started to gurgle, my anus started to pucker up, I had to take a massive shit. I excused myself saying that my medication's side effects were kicking in. Tim laughed and told me to go, and so I did, I ran out of the cafeteria holding my ass in hopes that it wouldn't explode in my pants, the first public washroom that I made it to be locked. Fuck me running I thought, so I hightailed down a long corridor where I knew there was another bathroom, sweat broke out on my brow, my stomach was roiling and the poop was threatening to spill out. I reached the bathroom, it was unoccupied, I slammed the door shut, fumbled with my belt, ripped down my pants and we had touchdown. At that very moment I had never felt such joy, let me tell you. I went back and Tim chuckled as he asked me if I made it, to which I replied barely.
I started a group called Grief and Loss, and yep you probably guessed it, it was a group to show me how to work through the grief of the loss of my father, how to deal with the all of the misery I let build up like rust on the hull of an abandoned ship. I met with the facilitator the same man who ran Spirituality, he was the type of guy you could let all of your walls down and just talk to, an amazing man full of serenity and peace. He told me to show up at group with a letter written to my father, telling him where I was at, at that point in my life and he gave me the permission to become unglued. So I did, he told me that it was going to be one of the hardest groups I've attended and boy was he right, I wasn't ready for the agony that my letters to my dad would dredge up. I've been debating this for some time and decided to share with you my first letter to my dad. I still write to him to this day every once and awhile.
( To Chewi and Bryan if you read this, that anger and resentment I felt toward you is gone and I hope that you aren't mad, but this was how I felt at the time. )
Hey Dad,
It's been awhile since you left and well it seems that I've become lost. I know that you were going to go yet it still hit me like a ton of bricks. I've been buried in depression and have tried to self medicate myself with drugs and alcohol. I guess it didn't work because here I am, seven years later with a habit and in the Homewood. I don't know that I know how to let you go. I think that I have but your sweet face just keeps creeping, front and center into my mind, bringing with it this great sadness that I cannot shake. I still carry anger and resentment towards Chewi and Bryan because as you were passing they were hardly there if at all and I was left to take care of you myself. Don't get me wrong, the last eight months that we spent together I would not trade for anything in the world, for I feel that they brought us closer. I am working on my demons and am hopeful that one day I will be able to remember you as you were, the loving man who swore around a lit cigarette and smiled as you untangled the lines on our rods, not the bag of bones you became at the end. I do miss you with all my heart and soul, for your voice was always one of support and encouragement. I hope that you are happy where you are and I'll see you when I see you.
All my love
Jay.
Be kind to yourselves; love yourselves, thanks for reading.
J-
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