••this girl I once knew••
I wake up.
Morose
My eyes aren’t open yet but I already feel the weight of the day bearing down on my chest. The morning hurts my skin, dread washes over me, and there’s a lump in my throat. There’s always a lump in my throat.
I drag myself out of bed with overwhelming reluctance and start getting my kids ready for school.
“Wake up”
“Get dressed”
“Eat breakfast”
“Brush your teeth”, I command guiltily, and with the full knowledge that I will not be doing any of these things myself. I try to button their jeans but my hands are shaking. My hands always shake.
I can’t drive (DUI) so my mother in law picks up the boys and takes them to school. No sooner does the front door slam shut that I’m crawling back into bed. Im not ready yet. I’m never ready.
Theres too much bad shit running around in my brain and I need to hide from myself for a little longer. My last thoughts before falling asleep are suffocating, completely ridden with anxiety and dread. It’s 7:00am and I’m overwhelmed. I’m always overwhelmed.
10:00 am and my daughter wakes me up. I let her out of her room
and half heartedly interact with her while watching daytime TV. The house is a wreck with plates and laundry everywhere. The room looks like I feel; cluttered with shit I never wanted but somehow have.
I wish I could clean. It would be so great to surprise my husband with a completely clean house. He would walk though the door surprised and smiling, give me lots of hugs, and tell me how proud he is. I would know that I’ve made up for the burden I’ve become. He would look at me with joy instead of disappointment and it would be all better.
I want so badly to make it better.
But I remain in bed, inhaling every part of the world that hurts me and exhaling every part of my life thats good. Instead of cleaning I’m toiling with darkness. I’m wrestling with regret so jagged that it surfaces like rocks beneath the skin.
I can’t clean. I can barely stand. I won’t get the smile or the hug or feel the pride of productivity and nothing about today will warrant celebration. Just more nothing. Always more nothing.
My husband walks in just after the boys get home from school. He’s tired, but they aren’t. I let him take a nap and I spend the rest of the day trying to keep the boys busy and quiet so I can lay down and watch TV.
I’m not getting out of bed unless I have to, and I’m to tired to cook. So we order food and I wonder if kid handing me the pizza knows how horrible I am. I imagine I’m him, and that he’s happy, and having a better day then me. Then I wonder if I should be thankful I’m not him, like maybe he’s worse off and suffering tragedies I couldn’t imagine. These thoughts keep me busy long after the pizza is finished.
9:00, thank god. I put the kids into their beds and climb into mine. I feel safe again, covered in blankets, lights off, tv on. I close my eyes, worry about tomorrow, and disengage until I fall asleep. I always fall asleep.
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