It’s nice that you say you like me
But only conditionally
I remember when I first moved to San Francisco almost a year ago, I was so excited. I wanted my own space, alone time, new friends… I wanted to explore and experience different cultures, foods, places, people… I was so determined and willing to make art, write, find an internship, and ultimately start my career as soon as possible. I did all of these things successfully in my first semester. I experienced and got through my first (and second) heart break, wrote tons of music reviews, painted and drew almost every day, sang my heart out as often as I could, looked into and applied to several internships at the local art museums. But then my dad died. And when my dad died, it seems as though all of my inspiration and motivation died with him. At this point, art, writing, new friends, exploring, and journalism are not my priorities anymore. At this point I’m focused on pulling myself out of bed each day and pretending I’m okay. At this point I’m leaving biology class to cry due to a lesson being taught about “most lethal cancer types in men” and seeing my dad’s diagnosis in the lowest percentile. At this point I’m sleeping with the lights on and calling my boyfriend every night to fall asleep with him on the phone and hopefully overcome the haunting presence I feel in my room each night since my dad died. At this points I’m flunking classes, considering dropping out of school, working nonstop to live from paycheck to paycheck, picking fights, distancing myself from the ones I love, and behaving like a person I knew I wasn’t like before. I’m so lost and I just want to quit, but I know he wouldn’t want me to. “What would your dad tell you to do?” “You know he wants you to keep going.” “He just wanted you to be happy.” I know, but I just wish I could hear those words come out of his mouth instead of anyone else’s.