Posted by Anonymous.
I’m a mess. I don’t want to be a mess. I want to be strong and healthy.
Vibrant and worth knowing. I don’t want to cry at the drop of a hat or the shadow of a drop of a hat. I don’t want to be a drain on everyone I know.
I took beans off of my husband’s plate the first night I met him. I didn’t ask, I just took them. Where is that confidence? I hardly knew anything back then, just having my brain reset and all, but what I did know, I really, really knew. And now? None of that matters. And I don’t know anything. Maybe less.
I’m tired of being tired and sick of being sick. I’m willing something new to come along and make me forget how deep I hurt. And I fear there is nothing coming, ever, that can change the way I feel.
And long after everyone else is tired of hearing it and wishes I would just shut up already, I’ll be feeling it and thinking it and wishing I were dead but too afraid to do it because of how that would make my kids feel. (Is there a way to make it look like an accident?) It scares me
how much I mean those words. But I don’t think I’m allowed to say them out loud. So they stay in here, in my head, bouncing around and echoing off the walls.
And instead I’ll just drink a little too much and cry a little too often and plan on the inevitability of feeling sad the rest of my life.
It sounds so dramatic when I read over those last paragraphs. Like an emo teen, full of righteous indignation against the Man, even though she doesn’t know who the Man is.
You know when you start thinking of a million reasons why the people left in your life would be better off without you, it’s probably not a good time to make any major decisions. Like, death. But, when is a better time? I mean, I wouldn’t seek it out, but I wouldn’t say no, either. Know what I mean?