This life, it hurts. It hurts on a memory level, to a cellular level, to a joint and body level. This life given to me, hurts every single day I get up. I ache all the time. My body aches, literally. My joints feel like they are rubbing one another raw. My stomach is constantly in a panic, painful mode. My intestinal tract is reactive and angry. . . every other day. I have heartburn from morning until night. But that’s just the physical side.
I have headaches. I have bad dreams, when I sleep. For the most part I don’t sleep. I can’t fall asleep and when I do I wake up an hour later. I blame the dogs, “They had to go pee.” But in reality, it’s me. . . all me. I’m flinchy, jumpy and sad all the time. I cry for no reason, at everything. But mainly, I cry over what my demons tell me over and over again. Believe it or not, the mental side of it is just as painful as a physical side. The exhaustion from fighting alone is worse than the ruins of an exhausted war torn town.
The pain is often called depression. Doctors, family, friends and specialists all have labeled as clinical depression, depression, and in my case “situational depression”. Catch phrases are tossed around like popcorn seeds in a air popper; “PTSD”, “Hyper-vigilance”, “Fight or Flight”.
But for me, it’s pain. I hate this life. I hate what’s been “gifted” to me. If this is truly a gift, it’s the worst gag gift given. I get so caught up on the injustices from my youth, teen and early adult years that I have conditioned myself in remaining there. I don’t know how to be fully present with the me today. At this point.. I don’t even know if I can or want to be ‘fully present’. Why? It’s so foreign, and I’m too old, to try to relearn life.
I try, I really do. I flood my facebook page with thoughts, quotes, and pictures of inspirational quotes and memes. I read articles, daily, from places like Om Times and Tiny Buddha. I try to take it in, process it and figure out how to manifest the “good” in me. My significant other says he can see it in me, he can see my “core” and he knows “the real me” is in there. I’m afraid she’s a serious lost cause, this “me” inside of me. I’ve lived the life of severe, dark depression for so long, that even if she is in there, she’s being totally and completely suffocated out.
I have hope (maybe it’s stupidity, but I’d like to consider it hope) that she really is in there. I can’t keep destroying his life because of my mental illness. I can’ t keep allowing my breakdowns to govern his emotions too. It’s unfair. He truly deserves a woman who is more present, calm, happy and there for him when he needs it. I’m a stupid naive woman if I thought I was even remotely ready to be in a relationship.
I’m far too broken. At 38yrs old, my broken edges have rubbed down to a poetic smoothness that can no longer be reunited with one another. My broken edges no longer fit like a puzzle piece, sharp corners meeting sharper corners. Maybe if someone stepped in when I was a teenager, or preteen, things would have been different. But this, this is who I am.
My world is very black and white. There are no shades of gray. This is comfort to me now. This is where I reside. I don’t know how to stop fighting it, break free from it and get healthy. I just don’t know anymore.