Of burgers and tears

Dear X,

I cannot talk about things like this to anyone that even my shrink tells me I am being illogical. So I am writing this down here just in case someone understands. I’m going to start calling you X from now on because I do not know and I couldn’t be sure who is reading this, whether someone does, so I’m going to start referring to you as the variable ‘X’.

My dad just brought me my favorite burger not over an hour ago. And my reaction was more of horror than thankful. I figured he had to leave work early today and I hope it is not because he finds a need to buy me a freaking burger. Thing is, he brought me this big burger which I am fond of eating before, which I never eat anymore. And that has to mean one thing after his question early this morning before we went for our usual run.

I am not sure what gave him the idea but he asked me if I slept in late last night. I can’t bring myself to look in the mirror to check if my eyes are puffy or red or both. If that’s what gave everything away. I didn't know I slept crying last night, like I didn't know that I do for the past months. I answered ‘no’ and he didn't give a fuss anymore.

I respect so much of my dad, more so for respecting my privacy and not asking too many questions that’s only going to make me tear up. The last thing I want to do is to cry in front of my parents. But I guess, my silence is worst than my crying itself. I do not know if my mom has told him of why I am like this (not that I said much), whatever I am like these days or for the past months. Why I find it necessary to go home whenever I can (because I cannot be left alone in my dorm room, because I will just start crying and bawling and shrinking into a ball and cry all over again). Why I push myself to run at least a mile a day or until my legs hurt. Why I do not eat or sleep or talk too much like I used to. Why I always ask for hugs. Why I cut my hair. Why I am not the same happy person that I once was.

I can only hope that they do not worry about me. Another thing I don’t want them to do is to worry about me, not when they are leaving in a few months.

Are dads always like this? Do they easily pick up what troubles their daughters? Do they sense that they are hurt or sad or feeling abandoned? Do they really feel something is wrong even if we do not speak of it?

Daddy, I know you are not ever going to read this but thank you. Thank you for all these. For not asking more than what I can answer, for keeping me on my feet, for always making me feel that I am worth it and that I am worthy of all the love in this world. I love you and I love that I will always be your girl.

I love you that much that I ate half of the burger even if I didn’t want to. I ate it even if it made me feel sick and that it was hard for me to stomach it. Partly, I ate it because I do not want you to worry and I do not like you thinking that something is wrong (even when there is truly something wrong).

I hope this is the first and last burger. Not only because I do not want to eat it, but also because I do not think the burger is going to help me get that space between my thighs. :)

Love you Dad,

Wanina