I'm realizing how hard it is to come up with things to write in these blogs. My working idea right now is video games but that's not really whats on my mind right now. I'm sitting in my room after a hike listening to classical music and eating Takis I got at my local quick check, so instead I think wanna reflect on a time back in senior year of high school. It was after school and by that point I had been walking to and from school for a good bit so I wasn't thinking to much about anything, until I turned the corner to enter my driveway to see my dad's car. I don't like my dad, I get freaked out whenever he's anywhere near me so when I saw his car in the driveway for whatever reason I made the decision to GTFO and kept walking right by my house. I turned at some point and then at another until I made my way to the cemetery right next to my local library. I used to spend a lot of time at the library whenever I couldn't be home or needed somewhere else to be, but I didn't spend a lot of time sitting around the cemetery. It's kind of dreary really being in an area that's so centered on celebrating the death of people who lived where you stand now. Not to mention it felt a little disrespectful just "hanging out" around the names of the deceased and when they died. However kids always hung out there after being in the library for a bit because there were benches and paths that ran throughout it that made it very walkable and friendly to exist in, and the library had closed down not to long ago at that point so I spent some of my day there instead. When I got there I took out my journal and started to write.

Around this period in my life I had closed over drastically. Losing my father led to me lashing out at a lot of my friends and family so I didn't really have anywhere where I could process everything happening, but I didn't really. I wrote about where I was and the way I felt in the moment. The wind on my skin nudging me aside gently, the sounds of construction and of nature, and the shape of the road calling me towards the park. I didn't write about the way the sun felt on my skin but I can assume it was as it always is, comforting and warm. I don't know why when I lost/removed everyone from my life that life started to seem more fantastical. I'd let myself build stories in my head of forces luring me to try new things and the kind of life I'd live after trying those things. When I'm with people I can't tell myself those stories as easily because I'm not in my land of guardian angel grandmothers and deities of luck that smile upon me for my devotion to them. I'm in reality where I'm watching the people I'm with as if I'm an alien, staring and smiling and watching knowing it'll end one day soon. In this story I told to myself and only myself the road down the hill that I've walked countless of times called to me. It stretched far into the distance as light stretched back towards the horizon line like a big run way for me to land on. So I got up and followed it all the way past a park and by a brook where I sat and wrote again.

I blamed myself for everything happening. My friends not talking to me and my father blowing up and leaving me, my mom, and brothers confused as to what switch flipped to cause him to change his personality so strangely both weighed on me as I listened to the water flow. I opened my book and began to write"I feel like I'm in quick sand. The more I struggle the faster I sink but if I don't I still sink. Just, slower" which while a simple analogy still speaks to how I felt. I had to call 911 on my dad when he broke down. There was so much screaming and so much crying and I knew that our family would be irreversibly changed by whatever was happening and I couldn't take the noise or the hurt anymore so I dialed 911. I don't know why I was the one who had to do it. I don't know why I was the one who did do it and it still bothers me to this day. Did I just not love my dad as much as they did? Did I just not care what happened to him? I wish I knew