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Here I am, back again, still with no further understanding There was the uninnocent – friends without his best interests at heart and employers who worked him like a dog in Angola, far away from us.

There were the health services who did not give him the help he needed. The family members who were too embarrassed to admit he was mentally ill, and never brought him up with the love and care a child needs.

Then there was little old me, daddy’s little girl. At 13 years old, I was hit with the suicide of my father, my best friend. Not only that, but for two years before he took his own life, I had to watch my lovely, funny and kind-hearted dad create chaos and turn into someone I didn’t know. I was only around for 30% of his entire life. I was innocent.

Two years have passed, and I am the one being punished. I’m the one who has the nightmares about him. I’m the one who cries myself to sleep some nights. I’m the ONLY one with pictures of him all over my room. I’m having to fight to prove his existence because everyone else seems to be letting him slip away. I’m holding on to every last thing of him I can because I can’t face the reality that my dad left me behind.

Am I supposed to be over this? I feel that people just expect that I am, my friends, people I know. I’m hurting every single day I live without him. Truth be told, the grieving hasn’t started yet because I’m not letting it become a reality yet.

How can I let go of him?

This isn’t supposed to be real.

It can’t be.