Damn, I Hate You

I sat in my room for about an hour. My head was resting in my hands and I was trying not to think, but it's impossible to stop once your mind gets going.

It's over. I'm never going to have to come back to this crappy life; I'm never going to have to remember this stupid father of mine. I'm done with him. My life is going to be great.

But it's not over yet. I still had all day and most of tomorrow until it was finally through. I still had probably weeks until my dad was going to be sentenced anything. I still had a lot ahead of me. I'll be ready for it. I know I'll be ready for it. I'm a big kid now. I've been through way worse than court cases. Hell, I've had trouble with the law myself. I know how to talk.

But I've changed a lot. Every aspect of me has shifted. For the first time I'm finding it easy to feel my emotions. For the first time I'm finding that people actually will love me. It's overwhelming to think that after twelve years of no love (I'll give my mom credit and say she loved me) that people can get to know me deep down and still appreciate me.

Finally I stood up. I really need to pack everything. In a way, I wanted to leave it all in the past. I wanted to leave it all here and have the building torn down and just start a new life, just start over entirely. But even I knew that wasn't going to happen. I had to at least take my clothes and deoderants and cologns. I'm too superficial in reality to leave that stuff behind.

Weak humor always helps.

I had the song Help playing over and over in my mind. "When I was younger, so much younger than today/ I never needed anyone's help in any way." It was the song of my life! I finally got annoyed with it, though. Someone like me can only tolerate a certain amount of Beatles music at a time! I pulled out my mp3 player and plugged in my headphones. I wasn't going to risk speakers. Then again, fresh wounds would look better in court... But I really don't feel in the mood to have any more of this shit. Not even one for the road.

I had two bags filled of clothes and "memories". Mainly they were pictures of my mom and I when I was a kid. You could tell which pictures my dad had taken and which pictures were originally family photos. I had cut out my dad's figure in each picture he had been in because I wanted to look back at my infancy and childhood as a time of love, and if he was anywhere near the picture, there would only be one thing I remembered. I had done that when I was eleven. Good idea, really. It made it more bearable to look at my mom.

I looked a lot like her. I see why my dad could hate seeing me; I was almost a spitting image. My hair was spiked with the front locks falling forward, but it had the same black color. My deep brown eyes were the same striking shade. Same skin tone, same smile, same everything. Thank God. My dad's not quite the attractive one. Wonder how she was ever attracted to him?

Finally as I was going through my drawers in my dresser, which served as a desk more than a clothes holder, I stumbled across a bunch of old notebooks I'd had. They were all filled with either drawings or poems. After a few, you could tell when I lost interest in art and was only drawn to writing. I guess it has always been my thing.

I opened up one from when I was twelve. I had to see how much my writing had changed over four years. As I read, though, I realized it was mostly the topic that changed, not the style. "Your eyes were once so pretty/ But now they make me cry/ To look into those pictures/ and suddenly realize/ That those eyes will never gaze/ Upon my face again/ But I'll always look and remember/ You, and a time when/ My life was happy and perfect/ You made my life complete/ I wish you were still here/But I guess I'll just wait to meet/ You in heaven."

It's cute how I was never able to end a poem back then. It's depressing, though, to read how obsessed I was back then about my mom. Around then was when I was realizing that if my mom were alive, my life would be entirely different. Dad would've kept his job so we wouldn't have had foreclosure, so I'd still have a beautiful house. My dad would have shown me love. My mom would've definately loved me; she loved kids with ADHD and learning disabilities. She always loved how I was insanely hyper and yet still determined to learn everything the world could teach me. She could've helped me so much.

If I hadn't already cried so much over this past week, my eyes probably would've been able to produce some tears for now, but they were completely dried out and I couldn't find any in me to spill as I reminisced and considered the "could haves". It's dumb to sit around and think of that, but sometimes it makes me think that there's still hope. Like, this could've happened, but instead this did. I could learn from what did happen and use it for the future. Or I could learn from what I should've done and remind myself "You need to do this next time." For example, now I know I'm never going to let people control me or hurt me, because they won't change, and there's no point wasting time on them. Like my dad. Wasted ten years on that one.

Part of me was stupid and wanted my dad to walk in and tell me I could quit packing and just be hugged by him and everything would be better. I can't believe I'm still so stupid and optimistic. I need to talk to Jaimie.

I pulled out my phone and listened to the ring. "Hello?"

"Hey Jaimie, guess who." I said.

"Hey Deryk. Please tell me you aren't lying and awaiting death behind Jack in the Box?" she joked. Well, half joked. There was a serious concern in her voice.

"Haha, nah, I'm ok. Well, physically at least." I said, and she seemed to get what I meant instantly.

"What happened?"

"Well, he doesn't want me anyways, so I'm packing all my shit up right now. But I keep thinking all these stupid things like any minute he'll walk in and tell me he wants to start over or something." I poured it all out.

"I'm sorry. Deryk, you're not stupid, but you aren't being realistic right now. You need to remind yourself how good this is for you. You need to remember that me and Mr. B and everyone loves you and will make your life better. Even if your dad did suddenly want you, are you willing to forgive him for all that he's done for you?" She asked.

I was silent for a minute. "Would you be disappointed in me if I said yes?"