I am tired of all the shit I hold inside these days. I have to be strong on the outside. I have to suppress so many emotions just to keep the peace. Anger, hurt, pain and loneliness just to name a few. Giving into them would prove disastrous. Who knows if I would emerge on the other side with any resemblance of me left. I fear not being strong enough. I fear one day it is all going to explode and there wont be anything left of my sanity.
I lay in bed at night weeping silent tears until my pillow is saturated. I cry because I can't scream. I can't give into the selfish desire to scream at all of them. To stomp my feet and throw a tantrum. To say all the things to defend my right to not be disrespected and abused.
The strong side of me knows this isn't my fault. I know I didn't make my kid bi-polar. I know I didn't push her to do drugs. I know I have done everything in my power to protect her. To provide her with the tools to make better choices. This strong side is what eventually wins out and shelters me in a protective mask of f aux tolerance so that I can attempt to face each day with hope. Hope that today I won't become the object of hatred.
Under this thin veil of strength lies a mass of uncertainty and misery. Here in lies the doubt and the scars of wounds gone past. The memories of being hit, screamed at, spit on and blamed for all that is miserable in the life of my daughter. In this dark void is the guilt that maybe this is all my fault. Maybe I haven't loved her hard enough. Maybe I wasn't there for her at a crucial moment when I should have been. Maybe I have neglected her somehow. Maybe I could have done more or said something different to have spared her all this. Maybe somehow I am as responsible as she says I am.
What a crazy existence I have become. I wonder most days how I actually make it thru. Walkin on egg shells and filtering every thought I have to make sure nothing escapes my lips that might tip the balance of the moment. I don't lean on anyone when I am feeling lost. Because honestly, what would I say? What could I say that doesn't come off as selfish? Or a weak attempt for sympathy? I don't want anyones sympathy. Hell, I don't know what I want. Sometimes I think I just want someone to listen. But when it comes right down to it, I can't expect someone to listen when I can't even find the words to explain it all. Or even know if I want to try.
A wise woman once told me that painful emotions are like rancid stomach contents. They build and build inside us making us feel miserable...yet we do everything within our power to not throw them up. We will go so far as to lie with our faces pressed against the cold bathroom floor with all this toxic waste bubbling inside us to avoid vomiting. Even when we know without a shadow of doubt that once we do, we will begin to feel better and heal. Yet for some strange reason we refuse to just embrace the great porcelain bowl and hurl our guts.
This is my attempt to finally crawl my way to the toilet.....
I lay in bed at night weeping silent tears until my pillow is saturated. I cry because I can't scream. I can't give into the selfish desire to scream at all of them. To stomp my feet and throw a tantrum. To say all the things to defend my right to not be disrespected and abused.
The strong side of me knows this isn't my fault. I know I didn't make my kid bi-polar. I know I didn't push her to do drugs. I know I have done everything in my power to protect her. To provide her with the tools to make better choices. This strong side is what eventually wins out and shelters me in a protective mask of f aux tolerance so that I can attempt to face each day with hope. Hope that today I won't become the object of hatred.
Under this thin veil of strength lies a mass of uncertainty and misery. Here in lies the doubt and the scars of wounds gone past. The memories of being hit, screamed at, spit on and blamed for all that is miserable in the life of my daughter. In this dark void is the guilt that maybe this is all my fault. Maybe I haven't loved her hard enough. Maybe I wasn't there for her at a crucial moment when I should have been. Maybe I have neglected her somehow. Maybe I could have done more or said something different to have spared her all this. Maybe somehow I am as responsible as she says I am.
What a crazy existence I have become. I wonder most days how I actually make it thru. Walkin on egg shells and filtering every thought I have to make sure nothing escapes my lips that might tip the balance of the moment. I don't lean on anyone when I am feeling lost. Because honestly, what would I say? What could I say that doesn't come off as selfish? Or a weak attempt for sympathy? I don't want anyones sympathy. Hell, I don't know what I want. Sometimes I think I just want someone to listen. But when it comes right down to it, I can't expect someone to listen when I can't even find the words to explain it all. Or even know if I want to try.
A wise woman once told me that painful emotions are like rancid stomach contents. They build and build inside us making us feel miserable...yet we do everything within our power to not throw them up. We will go so far as to lie with our faces pressed against the cold bathroom floor with all this toxic waste bubbling inside us to avoid vomiting. Even when we know without a shadow of doubt that once we do, we will begin to feel better and heal. Yet for some strange reason we refuse to just embrace the great porcelain bowl and hurl our guts.
This is my attempt to finally crawl my way to the toilet.....
*sweeps the path clear, bleaches the bowl and hangs up the welcome sign*
ReplyDeleteI love you sis. Sometimes, just getting it out helps me to let some of it go. Your bile is different than mine but its all the same process.