i finally wrote my father The Letter. sent it last week with the hope it would arrive by father's day. is that cruel? in my mind the greatest gift i could give him is the truth. i haven't texted him happy father's day or anything today. i don't have the heart.

i drank myself into oblivion last night i guess
(i do not remember writing the previous entry).

i am tired and so deeply sad, but i don't really have the ability to cry anymore? maybe i haven't given myself permission.

i want to paint or at least spend some time in the sketchbook, but i'm laying around instead.

i don't really know.