{February 18, 2015}   It Feels Like Death in Here

Wake up every morning feeling like I’m fighting death himself, right inside my chest, a vortex that wants to suck the soul out of me. It’s not the most pleasant way to begin your day. Waking up wrapped in a shroud  and finding a way out of your own coffin,  through the dirt and into the shower, away from death. It takes an hour of mental gymnastics where I wonder for more than the millionth time, why am I doing this. After the first hour, the pang and longing to give in passes but the perma-fog beneath the plastic smile still wafts insidiously behind me all day.  The voices championing the cause of what’s the point, why are you putting yourself through this? How much easier, HOW MUCH easier to let it go, instead of all this useless shit.

It’s wheel of fortune, grim reaper style, round and round that wheel goes and every stop takes a tiny little bit of mental currency away till you can’t tell what phrase you’re meant to guess. Does it say live? life? Pull the little card and you have all the usual suspects, no $32,000 or trip to Bora Bora here.

a. jump off the building

b. take the pills

c. commit yourself

d. run off the damn road

e. pick up that knife

It’s not fun, neither is wearing the happy smile all day in public when all you want to do is shut the noise, shut the people, shut the fake, shut the fake shit right up. Because at the end of the day, carrying that smile, skip and jump all day feels like the weight of the world when you come back to desolation. And you sit in your apartment, alone, wondering, why did I just do that, did I do that for me because right now all it did was make me feel like the biggest piece of nothing in the world. I just gave and gave and gave all that fake happy energy so I could… be happy? I didn’t leave the house to make me happy. Wrong answer because happy didn’t come up on the board.

It’s like I’ve swallowed the bitter pill but instead of a pill it’s a rock and it’s stuck in my craw and not moving, and through the day it aches and hurts and pulls and tugs and I just want to tell someone to stick their head in their ass and fucking leave me alone because you just don’t know what I am going through to be here, to talk to you, to smile at you, to listen to all your stupid platitudes.

So, I’ve done this, everyday for the last few weeks, it’s been worse than normal but I’m fighting the fight, sucking it up, making all those people, clients, bosses, friends around me happy. Doing it for my kids. Then the 2 months before that, well, that was a different battle. I’ve numbed out those months of hateful, abandoned, sadness, pressure, loss for self preservation. Last thing I need is another black out.

So, here I am, survivor. Fighting, strong, walking beside death like we’re buddies. Knife twisted in my side, smile on my face. Wish I could be proud of all this strength, if only I knew why I was hurting myself so much to do this everyday… everyday. Looking forward to tomorrow morning.

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et cetera
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