Golden Ribbon, Part 2

I wrote this on Christmas Day. There were plenty of things spouting out of my heart, and into my head, and out through my hands. I wrote so much, not only on here, but in my notebooks, in my journals, on little pieces of paper, and on napkins. Everything felt so cluttered; and for some reason, I just couldn't get it all out of my system. It hurt.
I was too afraid to post this, because of what some people might think. It wasn't a confidence issue, it was more of a privacy thing that seemed to knock harshly at my already sickened heart. I wanted to get it out, but I was standing in the doorway of my own thoughts and feelings.
I didn't finish writing, because after the last sentence, I started to cry, and cry, and cry. You can tell from the sudden change of language, sentence structure, grammar, and punctuation where I started to really break down.
It has put a damper on my writing, and the writer's block is torturing me in a way that should be illegal.
My posting this is a way of hoping that somehow, some way, my mind will be free from this poisonous grip.
It's a New Year, and I need to take charge.

++++

This was my 3rd Christmas without my Father. It certainly hurt, but the comforting presence of my family sort of filled that void.

Last year, I wrote:
"This Christmas marks the second Christmas without my Father.

I watched the sun rise on Christmas Day.
I opened up my window, and sat on the ledge of the roof overlooking my front lawn.
I was wrapped up in a blanket. My body was warm,
but my face was cold and cracked due to the bitter cold, wintery wind.

The sun rose at 6:33 am today.
The warm rays of sunlight burst across the Hemisphere, much like the many Golden Ribbons from the colorfully wrapped and decorated Christmas presents under the tree.
A dark purple haze encircled the rising sun.
There was something about the mixture of colors that brought an incredible feeling into my heart.

Language is insufficient.
I can not describe it.

It was then that I realized just how lonely I really am."

This year was different. I've started to realize that I've been thinking of him less and less, and I'm not sure if I should be happy or sad or mad about that. It seems as if I've come to some sort of paradox, where the very thought of him brought me down to an emotional low; a very severe mixture of the baddest of emotions thrown into one single brewing pot, ready to boil over the lid that was so tightly slammed shut, atop a blue flame set on high. Sometimes it was good to think about him because the memory of him warmed my heart.

but I started to realize the warmth was only temporary.

i hope that i'm not messed up, and i hope that i'm not some type of circus freak that belongs in center ring.
that was my greatest fear when i went back to school those 2 years ago after everything had happened. i was scared that everyone would look at me, everyone would whisper behind my back as i walked through that cold grey pavilion, the crowd slowly separating like an open zipper. i would hear the hushed murmurs behind flattened hands held over their mouths, as they would say "that's her," or "did you hear what happened?," or "i feel so bad."
but i admit now to all of you that these past two years has taken a toll on me, and the numbness is starting to wear off. i can feel it now, and it's seeping in to my bones.

and even now all the memories are beginning to bring tears to my eyes.

but in general, i'm tired of living in the past, i'm tired of living in just memories. i find myself living too much in the days of the past, and i'm not appreciating what i have now. i would have thought that after my father's death that i would have learned that lesson already: to value what i have now: don't turn back, no regrets, appreciate everything, etc, etc, all the cliche tag-a-long life lessons to be learned. certainly i've learned them, but i think i'm just stuck in a rut where i haven't been living out those lessons in a true, humbled, and lowly manner. i should be doing better. i should be striving harder. i should be doing more. i should. i should.

don't tell me to let go. because i can't just yet.

++++

Things are still the same, and I am thinking of him less and less each day. In fact, this morning, I didn't even think of him at all until about 2 in the afternoon. To think that almost 3 years ago, he filled each and every single thought in my head...to now, where sometimes the memory of him escapes me. I'm saddened by it, but at the same time, I think that it's good that I'm thinking of him less, because it is allowing me to progress on with my life. Seasons pass along with the time, and I must realize it- no matter how hard it hurts.
I think what the problem is is that he was such a key part of my life, such a huge element in my upbringing, my childhood, my everything. For Heaven's sakes, he was my Father. I loved him. With all of my heart. And with every single fiber of my being. I was angry that he was taken away from me. I was angry that I never got to say goodbye. I was angry for not loving him more. I was angry for not being a better daughter. I was angry for forgetting the things he told me to remember. I was angry for being embarrassed by him sometimes. And I'm still angry that I felt all of those things.
I'm afraid that if I start to stop thinking about him, then I'll lose all that I have left of him. He's already been taken away from me once, and I don't want to lose those last little grains of memory. I'm afraid that if I allow myself to go on, I'll lose all of my creativity. All of my best work has been conjured from the emotions of loss and love; and my experiences. I'm mostly afraid that I'm being selfish. I can't stand to take away from any legacy that he left behind.
I need to re-learn how to adapt, because I'm so tired of living in this way where I have to second guess every single step that I take. I guess this is what the New Year is for.
Learning, and taking things in stride.
It's still a long road to recovery.