"Dear dad"

I get moments where flashes of inspiration come to me, and I spend the next few minutes-hours-days trying to get all my ideas out of my head. I've always said that my muse was my family, but I think now that my muse is pain.

Over the weekend, I realized that I want to draw and write part of a graphic novel for my Contemporary American Life Writing's final project, and I wanted to write it about my father. I thought that jotting some ideas down before going to bed would be a good way to relax. I was wrong. I spent most of the night trying to breathe and slow down my heart as memories flooded my brain. I should have gotten up and tried to organize everything, but I kept hoping I would fall asleep because I had plans to get up early the next morning and do homework. I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I woke up about fifteen minutes before my alarm went off with my heart in the same state of duress.

Equal to my father's failures loomed memories of my own. I had my methods of dealing with how screwed up my family was, which included locking everyone out, including my littlest siblings, who needed me. And I realize what looms over that is God's grace, which for some reason remains a constant in my life.

If I can pull off this small section of a graphic novel, then my theme is: "Dear dad: I am different despite you, not because of you."