Two years ago today, I trapped myself in my room with the blinds shut, blocking out all the light. My blankets up over my head and my bones shaking. Falling in and out of sleep throughout this day and the 6 that followed. I can't remember who I was then. I can't remember how I felt or what I thought. All I know is that it hurt. And I kept it all to myself. I said goodbye and I moved forward but it wasn't until July that I actually dealt with it. You never think it's gunna be you. You never think that today may be the day your dad takes his last breath. One day you hate him for loving his poison more than his children and the next day you hate him for dying and leaving you behind. Like a little girl, I filled my bed with every pillow I could find, I held myself and tried to remember everything about him. It's never enough. And you never get past it. But you deal and you make promises with yourself that it'll all be okay. That you didn't waste your time being stubborn for years and years instead of spending that time with him. Every once in a while it starts to hurt again but you get through it. You look yourself in the mirror and convince yourself that there was love. That he would have changed if he had more time. That you meant more. It's never enough. But you deal.