in the darkness of my days, i am all alone. it is just me. i do the caretaking. i pick up, i fold and i wash, i feed and i clothe. i make the lists. i plan the days. i think the thoughts and i do the dance. i do the communicating and i do the caring. i want nothing more than to be saved. it is what i have always wanted. someone merely to care enough to dig me out, to give me the love i need for myself to grow unweary and to rise. i just want someone else to come for once, to uncover me, take the initiative. i don't want to plan the plans. i don't want to be always and forever in my head, listless, bored, miserable. it is the hardest part - the solitude of my discontent. i open my phone and scan the contacts list for someone to call. there is no one close enough to my heart for me to step out of myself and make the leap. i cannot reach out of my darkness to find the words to say all that is wrong. it is too much. the words are too heavy on my tongue, the weight too heavy on my heart. tonight i am wandering around my house literally in the dark. i am lonely and i cannot think of what move to make. i am weeping constantly. i feel so lost. i feel so incapable of making any move towards the light. my body is cold. i can't identify all the parts well enough to say even what is so terrible. the desperation i feel is so palpable and yet so inarticulatable. how even to form my lips, to make sound pass through? the drafts in the house whistle in the silence. what do i do? which way do i go? my thoughts are full of all the horrible ways to move through this. to leave, to pack my bags, to chew gaping holes in my wrists, to merely sink to the floor and wait to be taken away. am i insane? the rational is there, in the background making comments now and then, but i keep burying her again. i am waiting to be loved. i am waiting, perhaps have been for a very long time, for someone to come and nurture me. i am the mother awaiting mothering. i feel so vulnerable and like such a child. tears streak my cheeks. i am stained by sorrow. and yet this is the same person who is supposed to appear on national television next week. is it some cry for attention? a truck fell on me! recognize me! tell me the world would be emptier without me! i am so stupid sometimes. i feel so utterly ridiculous.
the words i read reinforce the resentment i feel reinforces the misery that overpowers me. there are so many moments lately where i am falling deeply towards the choice to be crazy, i am beyond control, i have nothing, am nothing, want to do nothing. i think to take my kids and go, but i don't want to. i just want to disappear, sink, starve. and really all i want is to feel whole. i want to feel more than running on cycles of the trivial. i want to be committed to something beyond my small scope, beyond this viewpoint, this perspective, this history, this culture. i thought growing up that i would somehow live to see and help create some sort of utopia and now i am so resigned to the fact that things cannot get better than they are. i don't want to be like this. i don't want to feel so lost, so hopeless. the arguments that arise in my house feel so empty - "no, you can't have chocolate," "please pee in the potty, not on the floor," "don't lick/spit/hit me." what is the meaning? where is the fulfillment? i once felt so committed to motherhood. i am committed to motherhood. i know that, somewhere in here there is the sensation that this is a calling, but sometimes i think that really i just am too lazy and too defeated to attempt anything else. best to just forget about it and do what i am biologically destined for. i don't know how to reconcile the two sides of it - i am a mother, i love being a mother versus i am more than all of that. it seems so simple, but it is so complex. i just want to go away. i just want to get away. i just wish that i could have some sort of recognition that anything i do is at all worth anything. i want to know that i do anything exceptionally. i want to relax. i want to not be so hormonal, so out of control. i don't want to take zoloft. i just want to be happy. it is too familiar to feel this depth of despair. it's too comfortable and so so difficult. i am aching. i am - at a loss for how to move forward.


driving in darkness under bridges, there is a slowing, an easing of my foot upon the accelerator, and a quickening in my chest, the thud of my heart and the agony of my senses widening, drinking in ever more in anticipation. i am fixed with my hands clenched at "ten and two," my eyes open, my mouth secreting bile, my stomach cold. i am waiting. as i round the bend, my eyes turn instinctively heavenward. there is no enormous object, there are no sparks flying. there is only the crushing truth of having been here once before, of having survived my own death. and as i move away, i begin to sob. tears break the levees of my eyes. i have been taken back to the night of my accident and i realize that it was not at all my life that flashed before my eyes, but it was the possibility of my own death being revealed to me. i have been witness to my own end. it is nothing short of terrifying. all my logical conclusions about the preciousness of life, the fragility of it all, the delicate balance that my entire existence rests upon falls so short of the truth of it. the raw, unencumbered reality is that i did die somewhere, in some time and i saw it all in this existence for but a second. i have known my death and my natural reaction is to cling, ever desperately, to my life. there are no deep thoughts regarding my death. there is only the urge to not die.