The Day I Rise

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* Daya Nicole Johnston *

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* Daya Nicole Johnston *

Day One – December 3, Monday

Dear dad, I wish you were here and that I could tell you that I love and miss you. And not just me, we all do: Dennis, mom, even the mail carrier. I love you and if I knew where you moved to or if you answered any of my calls, I could tell you person-to-person, but I guess you do not want that. You never uttered a goodbye to me, and I don't know why. Despite that, I am putting this into the universe and maybe, you will reply. I miss you, dad. Please, I am begging you to come back to us. I promise I will be here, ready to accept you back with open arms. I love you.

I wrote that first journal entry while thinking of my father after his departure from our family a few weeks ago. I promised myself that I would stop calling; maybe even throw away my phone, just to eliminate the temptation. I knew he didn't want to talk to me, or he would have answered the first time, or maybe even the sixth. Those last couple of weeks have given me the gift of a prominent fear that I haven't felt in the sixteen years that I have been alive thus far.

Three months prior, I awoke as Daya Nicole Johnston, and then I started questioning if I should even associate myself with that last name. My Native American parents, the loving Samuel and Terra Johnston, haven't been doing much lately besides turning my entire world upside down by finalizing their separation after years of being seemingly happy. Obviously, they weren't, and I wished I hadn't been so oblivious to the war inside my home.

As of last week, my father moved out to an apartment on the more urban side of Portland, Maine. In the past, I couldn't ever imagine my parents splitting up but getting a separation and moving out doesn't take seconds. Thinking back on it there were obvious clues I could've noticed, like how family trips were few and far in between and the holidays didn't provide as much joy as they used to.

Speaking of holidays, this year was our first Thanksgiving without him, and I feel this unimaginable pain from the 'loss' of my father, if you can even call it that. I missed him more than anyone can imagine, and I'm sure my older brother Dennis felt the same. When all of this first started, I imagined he and I would lean on to one another for support. However, I was unfortunately wrong.

That morning I rose with a feeling in my chest that had woken me up every morning: despair. An unshakable feeling that accompanied me on my track through life. It followed my mind and dissolved any shred of happiness I can allow myself to feel. The last thing I wanted to do was move away from the serenity of my homely bed and be confronted by the series of heartbreak that surrounded me.

Obstinately, I walked over to my closet and changed into my outfit for the day. After getting dressed, I sat down on my day bed and looked out of my window and into the neighborhood. The place I had grown up in and loved for years. I smiled as I saw the street light where I had my first kiss, remembering the moment from my life where I smiled uncontrollably like a freak.

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