Mad Girl… can you believe what they’ve done to you? Wouldn’t they stop, when you asked them to leave you alone?
I am broken. I still care for my little boy, and I love his daddy dearly – but I am exhausted from the mere action of living – or so it seems. I just ready to bend and let these demons make black the world they once ruled before. It’s easier than fighting them. It’s easier than trying so desperately to hold on to my sanity. This fighter is worn, I am tired and in a very bleak and shattered place. My partner thinks I am tired of him, that I am overwhelmed with his way of living. I am not. I love him just the way he is. But I am tired. I am just tired…
“Like the water in the well
My melancholy state
Folly, fear and hate, I know
Even time will never tell
She teetered, she tripped
And then she fell
My faith in this world
Is a bottle of nothing
Still I fly
Still I fall”
I am insane. I am insane. I am… I am completely lost inside myself today. I have not taken a day off yet, taking the baby out – somewhere, ANYWHERE – every day just so I myself could get out of the house. I am desperate to stay outside of my head because it is getting very dark and cold in here and I am so scared of losing myself that it is almost stupidly pathetic. I am insane… I… I… I am dangerously close to losing myself and I am expressing almost no symptoms. This could either mean that I am not completely lost – or it could be that I am going to slip under without any warning. It would be the first time since I had my son.
To go along with my insanity, I am at a dissonance with my partner… Neither of us is sure this is going to work out. I am sure that if he lets me, I am willing to love him through this, but even then – sometimes loving someone just is not enough to save what should never have happened. I am in no way saying I think this should never have happened, but as Borderlines do, I am keeping him at a dangerous distance and I am scared that if I cannot break this chain that I will lose him and my son will lose a Dad. I am so broken. I am so scared of myself because I am stupidly dangerous.
I am fully aware of the havoc my disease can wreak upon a heart like his… without even thinking…
I’m praying something changes. Yes. Praying.
Don’t sell me your stories of who I am supposed to have been – especially because I don’t remember anymore. Do not try to convince me of the girl who has become nothing more than a foggy, mottled picture – that you might know her. She is fishing poles and hay bails, tadpoles and seaweed. She is glass milk bottles, big houses (not really that big now), and a green blanket for safety. She is warm summer nights and a very broken heart. She is pieces of a memory and you know her no better than I do. I can only take the scars left in her wake and try to make a patchwork quilt that will keep my family warm and safe in the future. I know the woman I have become, I know her very well. She is power and praise, she is lost and confused, she is right where she is supposed to be. She is baby bottles and little blankets, sweet teas and coffee, rune stones and bible verses, bus rides and sleepless nights. She is color, bouncing, drifting, in motion with her soul. She is me, and she is I, and she is Self. I am she as well and we have been scandalously intimate for some time now. Who she will make us into in the future is up to me entirely. What pieces will make the memories yet to come – I do not know. I do know, I am here. I am alive. I am safe. I am whole. I am crazy. I am perfect just the way I am. Broken pieces and all. So don’t you dare try to tell me who I once was, while trying to tell me who to be because of it. I am who I am supposed to be. I am a good mother. I am an even better Mommy. And yes, there is a difference. I am at least a decent friend. I am whole. I am broken in my wholeness. I am different, for sure. And yes God (however you define Him/Her/Ect) made me this way, and I will not be moved.
It’s not all that unfamiliar to me – this sleep deprived, sore muscle, trance-like state that I now find myself in. Most recently it is attributed to the goings-on of new motherhood, before that – too many nights spent in waiting for the police to come try once more to snuff out the light of passion in our hearts, to punch our dreams, to catch our river of righteous anger and passion with their spider-web lies and violence. Before that it was just the side effect of insanity. I am so used to forgetting to sleep that I cannot even really complain now that sleep is being denied me by my most beautiful little boy. 46 Days I have been a mom. 46 nights I have had every reason to keep myself sane. But that is the stupid part. I am not sane. By any rights. I am lost in this sea of total confusion and misunderstanding, hallucinating things that people didn’t really say or do, then spending sleepless nights sorting the reality from the fictions in my head. All of this while desperately trying to be a good mother, running myself into the ground – which only worsens my psychosis – to make all the necessary preparations for my child’s health and happiness. I have a meeting with TANF tomorrow and hopefully I will come back with some cash and some food stamps to spend on the little man and his loving parents.
Here’s to one more day still lucid.
Here’s to tomorrow.
So, I have been fighting back some pretty crippling depression of late. Old demons rearing their ugly heads at me left and right. I am not the woman I would like to make you believe that I am. Yeah, I have survived an unfair onslaught of tragedies and calamities, brokenness and scars – but I am still pretty pathetic when it comes to what should be the easiest of my challenges – myself. I hardly have the strength to lift my eyes to the path before me, my head hangs in regular defeat. Even now I am powerless to stop my past from haunting my loved ones. I get the loss of precious belongings.. I really do… but it just needs to stop… I am really losing myself in this. I feel like I am being swallowed whole by regrets. I love my son, and his daddy, but I regret ever going to San Francisco – though without going there I would have neither my son or his dad today. I regret letting that first selfish lover touch me…. I regret letting the fire lick at my skirt so many times… I regret the Occupy Movement as a whole, and sometimes I really regret never having the psycho-physical ability to relieve those I care for of the unimaginable burden I must be on their lives. I regret a lot of things… shit, I pretty much regret existing. Maybe if I had come later my parents would have been more prepared for me, maybe if I hadn’t been so sickly they would have had more time to fall in love with each other, maybe if I could have taken better care of the boys they would have the skills they are lacking now – which I won’t delve into. Maybe if I had fought a little harder my dad would have stayed in Oregon… maybe he would have fought a little harder to win back the heart of his wife and keep his crumbling family together. Maybe if I wasn’t so incapable of finishing the things I started I would be a graduate now, well on my way to the Psychology degree I have been pining for. Maybe if I had never come to existence at all…
Now this is not to be taken as “I regret existing and am thus going to hurt myself” on the contrary, I now have so many people itching to see me give up, to see me break, that I refuse to prove them right. I will not hurt myself – if I can help it. Sitting here with my son in my arms I hardly plan on ever trying to hurt myself in any way. I have a new promise to keep, that I won’t ever leave him.
I am simply trying desperately to get these screaming demons out of my head.
Little man didn’t rest at all last night, and as a result I think I got 1 or 2 hours
of pieced up sleep this morning. It was around 9 when I started trying to get
him to go to sleep, pacing the kitchen and living room, rocking him gently…
he would have no part of it. I tried everything. I fed him, even a little more
than his usual meal, I set him in his car seat on the drier, I even bundled him
up and tried walking the driveway with him. The poor guy just would NOT sleep.
I am, as a result, spending the day resting. I do have to do the dishes at some
point, and remind grandma to go back into town for drinks and the likes.
Tomorrow night I am having a bonfire with friends to celebrate my new life. I
just hope people actually show up this time and I am not left alone. I should
ask KC where his party is at and see if I can get a ride there. It would be fun
to go to his birthday party – despite not having a gift. I suppose I could make
chocolate chip cookies, or sugar – since we don’t have chocolate chips. It’s
nice with mom and Faith being out of the house today… it is finally quiet. Little
man is sleeping on my chest. I took my shirt off, and took his onesie off of
him and now we are just resting Skin-On-Skin. As for my disorder – today is a
good day. Last night was even an impressive night. Despite being mostly
desperate to get my son to go to sleep, I managed not to kill my mother’s dog
when he decided to make himself the center of attention by going outside and
barking at whatever it was he saw out there. Yawn… I should really try to get
some sleep while Little man is asleep.
Good night Journal, and Goodnight Readers….