Tuesday, September 8, 2015
If I am honest with myself, I've become hermit-like. I hide at home, behind the reason that I'm tired/I feel sick/I have stuff to do. The reality is, I got nothing. I waste so much time doing nothing, getting nothing done. It's a dangerous place to be. I'm aware enough to know this. I have no desire to see friends or family. If I could, I would talk to no one. All I want are my kids around me because they are my only anchors to this earth. They don't even have to talk to me, they just have to be there.
There is a part of me that hopes everything goes to shit, so I can finally reveal my true self, so I can leave this situation and adjust my life to a level that is more truthful. But pride is still the stronger emotion. The only thing worse than feeling nothing is feeling shame.
There are tiny tremors in my heart as I write. It feels like small skips, or should I say trips. The moments between beats is like the empty spaces in my chest where joy and laughter ought to be. When I think about my future, the trips echo loudly. Why? Because I see nothing. All I see is the daily effort to be calm and content while my body inevitably marches towards old age and disappearing into nothing, being nothing, having nothing.
I will die without a home, without peace, struggling to the very end. This is the rotten core of the apple that is my tender heart.
Posted by Merry Widow at 11:05 AM