getliverurself

[getliverurself]

One year ago today, it was 3:32 PM, PCT, when my father took his final breath and exited this world.

It was odd to me, seeing as It was such a beautiful, serene, unusually warm day for February, even for Southern California standards. That’s where I live. My father died in NYC, my hometown. It was freezing cold there. I remember calling the hospital after I knew he was gone and waiting on hold for about 34 minutes. 34 minutes and 6 seconds to be exact. It still hadn’t sunk in. He’s gone. I wanted, needed, to know the exact moment he had taken his final breath. Maybe that’s morbid probing to some… I just needed to know. The nurse plainly said “6:32 pm New York City time. I’m so sorry for your loss”. I thanked her. I hung up the phone and sat, of all places, directly next to my cats litter box. I sobbed into my scabbed up knees from picking at mosquito bites out of anxiety. My chest felt heavy and hungry. Does that make sense? You know when you’re hungry and you’re stomach makes that weird gurgle and feels empty and hollow? That’s what my chest, or rather my heart I suppose, felt like. I clutched my head and was thankful for the fact I was alone. My boyfriend was on his way, so was my best friend. But this moment meant a lot to me. This moment of being able to scream in such a loud manner. To cry and have snot dripping down my face. I’ll never forget being so exhausted I didn’t bother grabbing tissues. I’m ashamed to say my sweatpants were stained with dried and crusty snot from wiping my hands upon them in the aftermath. Somewhat prophetic I thought, sitting amongst shit with the litter boxes while sitting amongst shit emotionally. My dad was dead. Nothing to do. Nothing to say. It’s so fucking weird.

He’s just gone. There’s nothing to fix, nothing to do, nothing that will change. He’s just gone. Forever. Fucked, right?

I wondered about his final moments. The doctors say because he was on a ventilator, sedated, not awake, he wouldn’t have known what was happening. Is that better? Is it better to die not knowing you’re dying ? Is it better to be aware? Is that scarier?

I wondered what he was thinking, somewhere deep in the dark side of the subconscious. Did he reflect on his life? His children? His wife? His pets? His business? His saved episodes of Dateline he would never get to watch? Did he see some sort of golden light? What happened? Where does one go when they ultimately depart? Is it as beautiful as literature and our dreams claim it to be or as vacant and hollow as our nightmares insinuate? I guess we will never really know until that day comes. It’s not like we can ask the dearly departed. Maybe that’s the sickest part about death… the completely void, obliterating, awkward unknown.

I like to believe he’s here and somewhere else at once. I believe in a beautiful Heaven where he’s with all of the loved ones gone before him, friends, family, pets. I believe it with all of my heart.

Dada I’m so thankful you were my dad. Thank you for being the best one in the world. I’ll always miss you and always wish you were here. But instead of being sad today, I’ll try my best to be happy that I was lucky enough to have you. Still forever yours, abs.

[getliverurself]

4 dada

I think my dad would like this song I wrote last night

And the way I handled my last business fight

I think my dad would take my side

Even if he knew in his heart

I wasn’t right

I think my dad would like this joke

And hate the fact that I still smoke

I think my dad might like the fact

If they gave me hell

I gave it back

I think my dad watches over me

Puts his hand on my shoulder he

Would laugh at how my cat scratches me

“That’s just cats, pretty”

I hate that now I have a dead dad

I hate how much it makes me sad

Mostly

Entirely

I miss my dad

I wish that I could have him back

But up until we meet again

I’ll love you whole

Until then.

Dad.

[getliverurself]

7 things I’ve learned about grief, while I’ve been grieving my fathers death.

This morning I woke up and Ira and I talked about how much fun it was and how our wonderful tour guide, Cat, made our night even more incredible.

In the midst of all of this, I thought about my Dada, who I miss each and every day. My dad LOVED horror films and got such a kick out of Halloween Horror Nights and various “scare” attractions and would always , with his hands clasped, yell “WEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!” During the drops on rollercoasters (like a total nerd).

I felt compelled today to write something to all those who have lost parents.

I want to start with the impossibles.

1. There’s nothing anyone can say that will make it better.

People will try to comfort you by telling you it’ll be ok and your loved ones spirit will always be around you…

2. They mean well…

Refer to #1. There truly is absolutely nothing to say. What people do say, is usually meant to give you some comfort so just know they aren’t trying to trivialize or minimize your grief. They just really don’t know what else to do.

3. Feel what you need to fucking feel

Cry, scream, laugh, cry again…

Scream again…

Eat an entire tub of ice cream and pillsbury crescent rolls, have a glass of wine (I recommend Sancerre, but if you DONT drink “Surely” makes an excellent substitute for Sauvignon blanc) smoke a joint (if you’re into that) meditate! Collage! Paint! Listen to your favorite band that gives you comfort, whatever it may be. and of course…

Cry again. Cry in heaving, wailing, on-the-ground-can-barely-breathe-fuck-the-universe sobs.

Then. Take 3 deep breaths. DEEP BREATHS. Not the “breathe in deep for me” breaths when you get a check up. FULL BLOWN OXYGEN BREATHS.

Center yourself. Remember, the dead won’t be helped if you stop living.

4. Call a friend.

Call someone you love and trust. Call someone who remembers your loved one. Telling stories can often times help with the grieving process, in my experience at least (I’m a newborn, lost my dada in February so I don’t know it all) and make you feel less stuck on the magnitude of grief you can sometimes become engulfed in.

5. GIVE YOURSELF A BREAK

Grief is a 24 hour, heavily taxing and bleak job. And sometimes, it’s ok to give yourself permission to NOT GRIEVE. Don’t feel bad if you don’t remember whoever you’re grieving for a few hours… that means you’re HEALING!!!!!!! I like to think of it as a scab… if I pick at a scab over and over, the wound will reopen and bleed out. The more I leave it alone and appreciate that it will take time for it to heal, the sooner it will start to scar. It’ll never fully be gone, but it won’t always be readily available to be picked at at any given moment. Sometimes it feels as though if we don’t pick at those metaphorical scabs, we’ll forget they ever existed. But they’re still there, under the surface… you just have to look for them.

6. You might think you’re ok, before you’re actually ok and that is most definitely ok.

There is no set plan for grief. One day you may be an ocean of tear stained pillowcases, exhausted heaving chest sobs and knocking over of old photographs that remind you of once was that no longer physically is. Allow yourself to feel whatever, whenever and however. And if anyone tells you to do otherwise, they are

A. An asshole

B. Never have experienced this kind of grief before and

C. Not worthy of your open, honest emotions.

D. They can go fuck themselves.

D. Pt2…. They may experience this themselves too one day… try to be there for them even if they weren’t there for you.

Finally…

7. You actually, shockingly, WILL be ok. (Pardon the cliche)

I know, I know… such a trope. But for real there’s a reason that cliches are formed. I’m gonna be honest: you may never be the same “ok” as the old “ok” but you will be a new version of “ok”… go at your own pace… take care of YOU. Try to find the glimmers of their light whenever you can. And if you can’t, find ways to emulate that light within yourself.

One day, I hope you pass these thoughts on to someone else who needs to hear them.

In the mean time…

Stay strong. I send you my heart ten fold.

And to dada… I miss you so much. I hope I’ve somehow made you proud. 🙏🏻

Xx, Abbie.

[getliverurself]

“ A Witch & Her Familiar “

Drawing of Raven & I — by @amliv1

[getliverurself]

Witchy Art Prints by Darkhysteriaco

  x / x / x x / x / x / x

[getliverurself]

[getliverurself]

b1tch

[getliverurself]

Healing is fucking hard. And you’re allowed to struggle, fall back or even take a break from it. None of that makes you weak.

You’ll make it.

[getliverurself]

nobody deserves to be abused. you didn't ask for it and it's not 'karma' or your fault. nothing you feel you did wrong means that it had to happen. you didn't cause your abuse.

[getliverurself]

[getliverurself]

Charles Napier Kennedy (1852-1898) “The Artist’s Studio” (1898) Oil on canvas

[getliverurself]

“Fear forbids us many things, at times it prevents us from being happy, but everything in life has its nuances … thorns are also part of roses and we cannot doubt that they are beautiful.”

— siir-poesia ©

[getliverurself]

🍂*wakes up and stretches realizing my new form*🍂

[getliverurself]

Illustration for Goodnight Moon, Clement Hurd / Class of 2013, Mitski

[getliverurself]

༼ʘ̚ل͜ʘ̚༽

So we all know this has been one hell of a ride. November was hard. March through October was hard. We’re not expecting December to step out of line. So here’s a little something to celebrate just turning off our cerebral cortexes for a moment. It’s Tuesday. Enjoy the void.

[getliverurself]

[getliverurself]

tumblr tuesday: collage!

Behold! Another week, another Tuesday. Here are some things folk have made with their very own scissors. Yes, that’s right. Perhaps some pens, glue, even paints were involved. Let’s not jump to conclusions. Here, have some collages for your troubles.