Nightmares

Dear Diary,

    When Mum first handed me you and told me to write anything I wanted about my life, I didn’t think I would ever use you. Yet after this month, I believe it is time I begin adding some words to you. It’s around 3 AM right now; I can’t fall asleep. I haven’t been sleeping well at all this month. Every time I close my eyes, the only thing I can see are car lights and fire. The images drive me insane. And every time I manage an hour or two of sleep, I get nightmares. Bad dreams of blood and this constant loud screeching noise. I always wake up from those nightmares, drenched in sweat and tears.

Things haven’t really been easy after Mum died in a car crash earlier this summer. I was with her that evening when it happened. We had been talking about surprising Dad with a puppy, since we both knew he wanted one. And right after that, the details aren’t really clear. I just remember a loud honk, blaring lights, and a sudden impact that knocked my head back and forth harshly. I remember stumbling blindly out of the car, just to see it go up in flames. I think I passed out after that because the next time I opened my eyes, I was looking up at lights that appeared too bright, and Dad and a doctor were talking quietly above me. I was in a hospital. That’s when they told me the news. 

That Mum was gone. 

When I was let out of the hospital, a funeral was planned, and an empty coffin was buried within the ground. Dad and I haven't spoken much since the funeral. After the funeral, we had driven straight home where Dad locked himself in his room, and I was alone, unsure of what to do. While my father began to turn towards drinking, I found myself losing connections with the small amount of friends I had to begin with. My small group of friends, who I thought I could never lose, noticed I seemed off. After I told them about my mother’s death, and Dad being an alcoholic, they slowly cut off communications with me. I spent my days dwindling in my room, flipping through memory books, spending hours with music, and trying to lose reality in showers or my rare ability to sleep. Dad’s drinking got worse. Every day this month has been the same process. Dad comes home, exhausted from work, and treats himself to another drink. I end up making dinner for both of us every day. Sometimes he eats it, sometimes he leaves it, sometimes he hurls the food at my feet. 

Tonight was no different. Except for the fact that Dad finally got fired. It was bound to happen soon; the way he slacked off at everything and always headed to work late due to hangovers from his nightly drinking. My father had come home this evening, cursing and fuming. He was a wrecked mess, his hair unkempt, his shirt wrinkled, his tie unfastened. He had told me to get him a drink, and I did. And due to my stupid feet, I had tripped right in front of Dad, dropping his precious drink, which he cared more about than his own daughter. My cheek still hurts from when he slapped me a few hours ago. 

The shadows in the corner of my room are playing tricks on my eyes now. They seem to take resemblance to monsters. They make it harder for me to fall asleep. Not that I was able to in the first place.  I can hear Dad in his room, down the hall from mine. There was a slight hum of the television in his room, the buzzing of the machine and a muffled voice commentating the latest sports game. I don’t know how I can keep this up, Diary. I’m tired, and not just physically, but mentally. I’m worried for Dad, and I don’t know what to do. Dad says Mum died because of me. I guess he’s partially right. If I hadn’t talked to her as much during the drive, maybe she would’ve ended up alright. Sometimes, my father says it should’ve been me to die. He’s not wrong. I don’t feel like I deserve to live anymore. 

I miss the days when the three of us, Mum, Dad, and I were a happy family. I miss making pancakes together, and I wish for another tennis tournament between us. I want those days where things were okay, and those days that were filled with joy, laughter, hugs, and smiles. I know I feel stupid hoping the things I want will come back. I know it’s stupid to be writing things down in you. It’s not like you’re gonna help me anyways, sorry Diary. Yet here I am, wasting my night away, putting down every thought going around in my head. Oh, look at that; my alarm clock says it’s 3:30 AM.

I hate the feeling of being trapped in my own house. I hate living in fear, constantly wondering if my dad might just go insane and wild any second. Yes, I admit. I’m scared. I’m scared of my own father. I remember one time, he headed out to a bar, got himself drunk, then came home and drank some more. He flew into a rage that evening, breaking bottles and turning furniture over. There was a lot of noise that night. School starts in two weeks. I worry how I can manage school this year. Sometimes, I find myself thinking if I should call a child help center. Maybe I could find a new home, a new family, a new life. But at the same time, I don’t want to leave Dad. I didn’t want him to get in trouble. It’s not that easy to drop down everything you’ve ever known and take a risk for a new start. It really isn’t. So many thoughts are running in my head for me to be able to stop them and try to rest. 

Hey, Diary, it’s 3:45 AM right now. I’m so tired, but I still cannot sleep. I just can’t sleep with everything going on. I guess I could try. It’s not like I have anything better to do. Besides, I’ve already told you everything. I know it sounds silly, but I’m starting to feel like you’re my invisible loyal friend. I can tell you anything, and you’ll keep it a secret. I’m so sick of everything. I wish these nightmares would go away. I guess there is a way for me to sleep. Maybe I can just sleep and never wake up again. That’ll be nice. I don’t have anything to do anyways. Sorry that I won’t be able to tell you more things after tonight. It was nice being able to meet you. 

Goodbye, Diary.