Chapter 2: The beginnings

I've introduced you to my father, now lets talk about the day he disappeared. I knew something was wrong. My mother wasn't acting right. She seemed anxious. People came by, asking about my father. Men in uniform came to speak with my mother. They questioned her. They looked around our house. Then, they too were gone. They left, without another word and didn't return. At this point, I didn't yet know that my father was gone. I may have mentioned before, he'd sometimes leave for days at a time. His work kept him away most of the time, but he'd also leave and not return for many days because he was being drawn away....

This time...it was different. I was not yet old enough for my mother and older family members to confide their fears in, so my younger sisters and I were left out of the loop. Because of this fact, I'm not sure how I knew this time was different than all the other times he'd left for a few days. I guess that's proof that children, more often than not, are more aware than we give them credit for.

I remember that I missed him this time. I missed him before, but this time...I wasn't sure he was coming back. As I said before, I don't know how I knew, but I knew there was a possibility to that he may not return. Then, the night came that confirmed my fears. It was the same night that the darkness, that had been dormant inside of me for so long, decided to come to the surface for the first time ever.

It was late. I heard something at the door. I came downstairs. I wasn't scared. No, that didn't come until later. I felt...anxious. Uncomfortable. I didn't want to be there. I wanted to go back to bed, to glide back into my own dream world and I definitely did not want to see what was behind the door. But, I went forward anyways. I stood there, on the stairs, in my pajamas. I waited. I didn't find it unusual to be waiting inside of my home for someone to answer the door that they had just knocked on, though that is surely a very unusual thing to do. Apparently, it was the right decision, because the door opened.

There, standing in the doorway, was my father. He wasn't smiling, not at first. I watched him for a moment, not moving. He tried to smile, but it didn't feel the same. It felt...apologetic and sad. It didn't wuite reach his eyes like it usually did. I knew, as he smiled a smile that wasn't real down at me, that I wouldn't be seeing him for a long time, if ever again. I knew that...I should hug him, tell him how much I had missed him. I didn't want to. It was as if something inside of me was pushing all my good and positive emotions and intentions away, leaving only trepidation and fear behind. Then, the worst of it all....was apathy. A terrible and over-whelming apathy. The fear and trepidation faded with each breath until all that was left was...nothing.

I hugged him, regardless. I lied to him, saying that I missed him when, in that moment, I don't think I felt much of anything. I couldn't feel anything. Then, he left. He was gone and he did not return in a few days. Nor did he return in a few nights. Nor weeks, or months. It was many years before I was my father again, or what was left of him.

I didn't know it that night, but that hug, that doorway, wasn't real. It was my darkness, showing itself for the very first time. You see, my darkness manifests itself internally. It's as if something inside of me has...gone wrong. Gone missing.... Of course that's an inaccurate explaination, because nothing has gone missing. Instead, there is an addition. The darkness.

Any manifestation of someone's darkness is difficult to deal with. I would not say that my ordeal was any more difficult or any easier than my sister's. But...you can not know what someone is feeling, what they are experiencing, unless you have experienced it yourself. We sister look to each other, see each other's situation, and think to ourselves, "I don't want to have to go through that." But, we don't think each other's situations are any harder or easier than our own. Only, that we can not imagine having to go through what the other is going through. Why? because, once you've experienced your own personal darkness and accepted that what is happening to you is in fact really happening to you, it becomes a part of you. As I said before, people change. We changed, being unable, for a long time, to picture ourselves without our darkness, unabe to see ourselves in better situations. So, therefore, when we think about not wanting to go through each other's situations, we do not picture ourselves swapping our darknesses out for each others, no. Rather, we are imagining ourselves having more added to our current troubles. Our darkness is embedded too far in us for us to be able to imagine our lives without it. It's a part of us. It's part of our personalities, our lives.

Now, I'm writing in the present tense, when I really should be writing in the past tense. These are ordeals and troubles that we'd faced before, as in, no longer are we having to deal with these issues. However...fear is a powerful thing. I am aware of what I am doing, aware that everything has passed and yet...I dare not say everything is over. I compromise. With whome? I do not know. I am sending out a message, as I write in the present tense, and the message is this.

"If I am powerless to stop another situation and ordeal, please let me already be dealing with it. Please let this be it, and no more."

I understand that this may not make sense to those that have never felt fear of ones self and existance such as I have, so I will try to explain what I mean by this. What this message means is, as I am writing this, I have no symptoms of my darkness, but if I were to be forced to have to experience it, let it be happening now. Let what I am experiencing currently, which is not so bad, be the darkness. Please, do not drag me to the place I once was. Please. I supposed, I am asking that I grow accustomed to the darkness.... And that is why I switch between the past and present tense. For furture reference.

So, my father was gone. I did not know where or why he had gone, only that he was gone. I did not find out more until a few years later. At this point, when my father disappeared without a trace, I was eleven year old in three months. I was very young...too young to understand the dangers that I was now facing.