I keep wanting to write. I keep finding myself too exhausted. Too weary. Too scared. Too everything. Not enough of anything.
I drove west and thought I'd find the answers that I was looking for. I promised myself that I wasn't going to go looking for big answers, wasn't going to look for miracles and yet there I was, like a kid hoping to catch Santa at Christmas, wanting to believe in the things of miracles again. I went out there and got my hopes up. I found some answers. I found half answers. I found enough to get me through going to work. To pushing through being away from my baby. To forcing my body through motions that it's screaming against.
I got a call today that was bad news. I got a call today that put the brakes on the whole plan. I saw the hopes of everything dashed. I saw what I was pinning all of my hopes on dashed. I saw that bubble get burst so quickly. I crumbled just as quick. My resilience has worn thin. My faith has worn even thinner. I'm seeking solace in things that I know will bring comfort that are safe; like my babies smile; and those that are dangerous; like a bottle. I'm skirting the edges, getting dangerously uncomfortable with where my mind is going. I'm not liking where I'm going. I don't want to be this person. I want to be me. I want to be happy. I want to look in the mirror and recognize the girl staring back. But right now. Right now I have to look deep to find the me I once was. Right now, I have to dig deep to convince myself that it'll be ok. That they'll be better off with me here fighting to stay in this messed up body. That they won't be better off without me. Because in the middle of the night, when I'm exhausted and wracked with pain and there isn't any hope in sight - I honestly don't know anymore if he's better off with me here. I think he might be better off if I weren't. But I still hold on, I still fight like some crazed soldier on the battle field, riddled with bullets and for no sane reason still able to soldier on - because in my heart I still believe that she needs me, that no one else can love her and protect her the way that I can. And I guess that's the only reason that I still get up, that I still go into work, that I still torture myself in a chair for 5 hours, when by the end of it, on the entire drive home the only thing I can think is "focus on her" because if I don't the only other thing I can think is "what would it be like if I just punch the accelerator and hit that concrete divider. Would I even notice? Could it even hurt any more?
So I go west again next month. They put more needles in me. I'm suppose to feel less pain as a result. Do I have more faith in that? Do I have faith in God that he'll help me get through this? I honestly don't know what to believe...what to hope for. I just know that right now....right now I can't imagine holding on for much longer. I know that my husband needs me too. I need to stay strapped to my desk chair, fighting the good fight so that I can contribute to our income....and yet. The thought of continually doing that...makes me want to cash in on my life insurance for him. I can't handle it. I can't stand the torture. I can't do it. I just can't.
So. So what do I do? How do I get myself out of this mess? How do I get myself healed? How do I find the strength to know what direction to go? What fight to fight? Well, isn't that always the question? Isn't that something that plagues everyone to some extent? I guess I'll just have to fumble along and continue to see where life takes me. And hope that as long as my heart is honest with my mind - that it will all come together. I just feel like....there must be a reason, a purpose to all of this.
I need to write more. I need to find an outlet. I need to let go of this. I need to let myself know that it's ok.
I drove west and thought I'd find the answers that I was looking for. I promised myself that I wasn't going to go looking for big answers, wasn't going to look for miracles and yet there I was, like a kid hoping to catch Santa at Christmas, wanting to believe in the things of miracles again. I went out there and got my hopes up. I found some answers. I found half answers. I found enough to get me through going to work. To pushing through being away from my baby. To forcing my body through motions that it's screaming against.
I got a call today that was bad news. I got a call today that put the brakes on the whole plan. I saw the hopes of everything dashed. I saw what I was pinning all of my hopes on dashed. I saw that bubble get burst so quickly. I crumbled just as quick. My resilience has worn thin. My faith has worn even thinner. I'm seeking solace in things that I know will bring comfort that are safe; like my babies smile; and those that are dangerous; like a bottle. I'm skirting the edges, getting dangerously uncomfortable with where my mind is going. I'm not liking where I'm going. I don't want to be this person. I want to be me. I want to be happy. I want to look in the mirror and recognize the girl staring back. But right now. Right now I have to look deep to find the me I once was. Right now, I have to dig deep to convince myself that it'll be ok. That they'll be better off with me here fighting to stay in this messed up body. That they won't be better off without me. Because in the middle of the night, when I'm exhausted and wracked with pain and there isn't any hope in sight - I honestly don't know anymore if he's better off with me here. I think he might be better off if I weren't. But I still hold on, I still fight like some crazed soldier on the battle field, riddled with bullets and for no sane reason still able to soldier on - because in my heart I still believe that she needs me, that no one else can love her and protect her the way that I can. And I guess that's the only reason that I still get up, that I still go into work, that I still torture myself in a chair for 5 hours, when by the end of it, on the entire drive home the only thing I can think is "focus on her" because if I don't the only other thing I can think is "what would it be like if I just punch the accelerator and hit that concrete divider. Would I even notice? Could it even hurt any more?
So I go west again next month. They put more needles in me. I'm suppose to feel less pain as a result. Do I have more faith in that? Do I have faith in God that he'll help me get through this? I honestly don't know what to believe...what to hope for. I just know that right now....right now I can't imagine holding on for much longer. I know that my husband needs me too. I need to stay strapped to my desk chair, fighting the good fight so that I can contribute to our income....and yet. The thought of continually doing that...makes me want to cash in on my life insurance for him. I can't handle it. I can't stand the torture. I can't do it. I just can't.
So. So what do I do? How do I get myself out of this mess? How do I get myself healed? How do I find the strength to know what direction to go? What fight to fight? Well, isn't that always the question? Isn't that something that plagues everyone to some extent? I guess I'll just have to fumble along and continue to see where life takes me. And hope that as long as my heart is honest with my mind - that it will all come together. I just feel like....there must be a reason, a purpose to all of this.
I need to write more. I need to find an outlet. I need to let go of this. I need to let myself know that it's ok.
Such is the way of the world
You can never know
just where to put all your faith
and how will it grow
Rise - Eddie Vedder
