Post by MeBeLizzi on May 10, 2014 18:02:59 GMT -5
My grandpa and I were close. He was like my dad, and he knew it. We went to father-daughter dances, he took me on "dates", we had movie nights, I spent day after day following him around his workshop. He taught me how to use a saw, and how to find a stud in the wall to hang a picture on. We built things together, and he gave me little life lessons, words of advice.
I was too young to appreciate everything he told me; I didn't listen.
One thing I do remember though, was when he told me about somebody's eyes. He said that if somebody's eyes are sparkling, they're giving you a glimpse of their soul. His eyes always sparkled. Grandpa had the most gorgeous gray eyes. They had little specks of gold around the middle, and sometimes, especially when he wore brown, they looked green at a certain angle.
I have those eyes. I hate them.
Every time I look in the mirror I see my eyes, his eyes, but they don't sparkle like they should. They're dull, emotionless. It makes me wonder if I have a soul at all. I'm not a good person. I do a lot of bad things. I treat myself horribly, and I deserve it all.
This didn't come on suddenly. When I was little, and before he died, I loved my eyes. I thought they were my best feature, because they're unique, but at the same time, they connect me to my favorite person in the world.
Then during my sophomore year, I got into drugs, alcohol, skipped school, got arrested. I fell into a black hole of depression. Since then, I've slowly hated my eyes. At first it was just sometimes. I would look in the mirror and notice how stoned I was or something. I would think, "what the heck is wrong with me?" but I would do it again the next day, and the next day, and the next day. Then he got sick, and everyone said he would get better but something inside me just knew his time was coming to an end, you know? Then he passed away, and I looked in the mirror on the day of the funeral and I've never hated myself more.
I hate my eyes. I don't deserve his eyes. I don't want them. I don't want a constant reminder of how bad of a person I am. I just hate them.
I hate my eyes.
I was too young to appreciate everything he told me; I didn't listen.
One thing I do remember though, was when he told me about somebody's eyes. He said that if somebody's eyes are sparkling, they're giving you a glimpse of their soul. His eyes always sparkled. Grandpa had the most gorgeous gray eyes. They had little specks of gold around the middle, and sometimes, especially when he wore brown, they looked green at a certain angle.
I have those eyes. I hate them.
Every time I look in the mirror I see my eyes, his eyes, but they don't sparkle like they should. They're dull, emotionless. It makes me wonder if I have a soul at all. I'm not a good person. I do a lot of bad things. I treat myself horribly, and I deserve it all.
This didn't come on suddenly. When I was little, and before he died, I loved my eyes. I thought they were my best feature, because they're unique, but at the same time, they connect me to my favorite person in the world.
Then during my sophomore year, I got into drugs, alcohol, skipped school, got arrested. I fell into a black hole of depression. Since then, I've slowly hated my eyes. At first it was just sometimes. I would look in the mirror and notice how stoned I was or something. I would think, "what the heck is wrong with me?" but I would do it again the next day, and the next day, and the next day. Then he got sick, and everyone said he would get better but something inside me just knew his time was coming to an end, you know? Then he passed away, and I looked in the mirror on the day of the funeral and I've never hated myself more.
I hate my eyes. I don't deserve his eyes. I don't want them. I don't want a constant reminder of how bad of a person I am. I just hate them.
I hate my eyes.
Attachments:
