7/18/15

I remember being a teenager and planning my whole life. I always knew I wanted children. The number of them varied from year to year and at some point I settled down at three. I knew I would get married young, have children soon after and ultimately be done by the age of 30. All the while balancing a successful career. I never felt naive about it. I would simply just have gotten it done. I never expected it to be easy. I just expected myself to succeed, Fast forward a few hard years, cancer, an unplanned pregnancy and dealing with the emotional turmoil that proceeded my marriage to my husband, here I am. I am 25, happily married and I have a beautiful little girl-but I'm terrified. Actually I may be in full blown panic mode. Nothing is the way it was supposed to be. And I keep foolishly trying to solve a puzzle with the wrong pieces. It's exhausting. It's debilitating stress. And I feel so very alone.

I honestly don't know how to relinquish control. But I haven't had any control over my life in years. I keep swimming against the current and getting swept away. But I'm too stubborn to quit. Too proud to give up. I keep grasping at the dreams and ideals of my past and everything is getting foggy. I worked so hard. Climbed so many mountains. I cried too many tears. I'm screaming like the spoiled brat that I am, demanding some tiny bit of what I feel is owed to me. What I feel should already be mine.

I want security. I've never dreamed of a mansion on top of a hill and my life to be a vacation. I just want to feel like the ground isn't going to fall out from under me.

Today is Friday

Time escapes me. Almost two years have gone by since I've written in this silly thing. A lot happens in two years, even when "nothing" seems to actually happen.

I'm not even sure what I'm trying to compose here. Though, it may have always been that way. There was just always that inclination to somehow make sense of my life that compelled me to spit my emotions out.

As I begin to creep up on 26 you would think that I would have more of a sense of what life has in store for me. Yet as of late you'll find me on my knees begging God for some type of clue. I'm grasping at dreams I'm not sure I should keep. Why is it that I am always such a mess?

I have so much more to offer than I have been allowed to give.

Selfish

To say I'm going through something would be an understatement.  A person can only take so much yet here I am somehow still taking more.  My frontal lobe is damaged beyond repair.  In result I have a difficulty choosing my words in ways that I wish.  My judgment is not always correct.  My emotions are nearly unmanageable.  I feel myself sinking and I can't do a single thing to stop it. 

Ending my life is my fall back plan.  It always has been.  Suicide is always an option. I can't help but consider it.  It plagues my thoughts and the whispers in my head just get louder.  Many think suicide is a selfish act.  I happen to not.  And let's not start an argument about it. 

But I am being selfish.  Last night I laid in bed and thought everything over.  I thought about Alexis growing up without me.  I thought about her being raised in a home without my influence.  Then it all hit me.  It isn't that my beautiful little girl could not grow up into a marvelous,  strong woman without me.  She would be just fine.  It is that I can't stand the thought of missing a thing.  Not one smile,  one hug, one kiss. I can't miss one milestone,  one event.  I have to live not because I will bring her joy, but because that's what she brings me. 

I'm selfishly soaking up the love my daughter gives me.  I'm supposed to protect her.  Love her.  Help her.  Save her from every and any harm.  But she's the one saving me. 

Stripped

I'm hollowed out. I buried my heart where no one can touch it.  I'm still standing.  Still breathing.  But let's be honest,  I've been slaughtered. 

She's all I think about.  My glue. But I can't gain my strength from her.  She needs to lean on me.

Lies.  Betrayal.  Dishonesty.

I don't care about making sense.  I don't desire to be seen as sane.  I'm not worried about the appearance of my intellect.

I'm tired of forming words that will never hold true meaning.

"I'd like to be my old self again,  but I'm still trying to find it"

Limbo

There is this knot that is perpetually in my stomach.  It's more of a matter of how tightly it's being pulled that varies each day.  For about a year and a half I've been walking around in haze, not really certain if I'm seeing everything in front of me clearly.  For about 9 months I've been breathing in barely enough air. My heart lives outside my body and not in the poetic motherly sense. It was ripped out and placed there. 

Forgiveness is a hard thing to do.  But often I wonder if my perspective on it is misguided.  Countless times I've been burned,  and have risen amongst the ashes,  accepting apologies and doing my best to move on. Yet all that pain lives inside me.  I'm crippled by my incapacity to forget the past.  It is not without effort that I fail.  My memories and attached emotions are just far stronger than my will. I'd give anything to just "forgive and forget". Anything. 

Time heals all wounds. What if that's a lie our world has bought into? What if we're just desperate to live pain free and we manage to convince ourselves that after an unknown amount of days passing things just somehow get better? What if the truth is wounds never heal?  They just scab over and fade into scars that are forever etched into your very being.  Reminders are everywhere. 

Maybe I'm just crazy. 

What I do know is I'm not in hell, but this isn't heaven either. 

I'm just stuck. 

Life Happens

The past couple months I feel like I've been stumbling around in the dark. It's similar to those early mornings/late nights when I make my way to Lexi's room and I'm cautious of my every step in fear of tripping. I move quickly,  but there is no doubt that I'm doing a dance around my path avoiding all possible danger that lurks on the floor. The difference about life though is you can't predict what you may stumble on, and it typically hurts much more than stubbing your toe on a baby toy.

I dislike the battles I have with myself.  A recent conversation with one of my dearest friends helped me put things into perspective, but also set me spiraling down a fury of frustrations. My expectations are simply too high.  I can't judge myself to who I used to be and my former capabilities. I am not who I used to be,  or even wanted to be.  But the person I am is not someone I need to be ashamed of. I'm a survivor,  and I need to keep surviving and simply focus on being the type of woman my daughter can be proud of. I died,  and then was reborn into someone else.  I have to let my old self go. 

We all experience growing pains. Time changes everything,  and we can't stop it as hard as we try.  It is so difficult to see everything you once knew slip away.  To find yourself miles away from someone you used to be merely inches apart. There is a fatality to growing up.  There is no way around it.  So this is where I find myself.  At a crossroads,  so to speak.  Or perhaps I've already driven past it,  and I'm glancing in the rear view mirror for the first time.  Life happens quickly, but the truth is, life does not only have one beginning and one end.  Every day,  life takes on a new start. It provides new challenges.  What I need to learn is to work with what I have right in front of me,  and not despair over all my yesterdays.

I'm a work in progress.

Side Effects

Some days I feel enraged; like a boiling pot of water bubbling furiously right before it overflows. I take a look at my life and my heart wrestles conflicting emotions. There is so much joy and blessings in my world yet this anger is festering inside me. I'm trying to contain so much but I'm dangerously close to the edge.

Words like "irreversible", "uncontrollable" and "permanently" tick me off. In all the right contexts they could be great. My love for you is irreversible. I was filled with uncontrollable laughter. We are in this together, permanently, forever. Instead these words give me a foul taste in myself. This black cloud is looming overhead and I'm without an umbrella.

The matter at hand is a serious one, but I feel as though I'm the only one taking it seriously. Frailty. I think that about sums it up. Everything is so weak and ever so breakable.

My days of standing alone and moving mountains with sheer will and perseverance are over. If only the world could hear my screams and pleas for help.

In addition, I have lost my self-destruct button. This, I'm sure, is a blessing.

Some days I feel everything. Other days I feel nothing. Neither is a place of potential for personal growth.

They say I'll get there some day. You would think that day would have been here by now.