I feel like I am floating away. Higher and higher. Unable to make sense of what’s below. Knowing however, that it is not safe. Maybe I’m being pushed into the ground. Not being hammered down bit by bit. Descending slowly. Steadily. Head never going fully under. Somehow my shoulders and head bobbing on the ground. The ground still firm and yet I bob. It doesn’t make sense, but none of this makes sense.
Like anyone’s life, mine is comprised of high points and low points. The former appear as canyons compared to others’ mountainous highs. The latter showing the desperation in my mind. Reminding me that all is woefully falling short of “A Life Worth Living.”
I am not empty. Not completely. I think I will not crack and shatter this time. This is different from that. From the shattering of yore. Yore being a mere two years ago. I will not rule it out. It still could come. Things are progressing in a negative direction. How long can I survive? How deep can I fall? How and when will that last straw break? Me trying to avoid that needle in that haystack, instead of seeking it out.
Things are so hard right now. Different houses. Late. Early. Tardy – adults and kids. Three exhausted adults. Three exhausted kids. Trying to put one foot in front of the other. No one has enough sleep. Everyone’s resources are running low. Everyone snapping at each other. Adults worrying about kids. How long can this craziness go on? Do the others in this equation have a breaking point? I suppose everyone has one in the end. I feel so protective of my children. This however, is making it difficult. Others making choices for us. Making difficult things almost impossible.
Control, to an extent is something adults expect to have, over their own children. When that is taken away, an entirely hopeless feeling envelopes those elders. We should run the show. We who birthed and love you. And yet we don’t. We are pieces in this puzzle that are moved by the hand of another. We try to keep an eye on our young’s position. Seeing is not enough. Seeing just is.
None of this is short lived.
None of this is manageable.
None is okay.
All of this makes me angry.
I know deep down this roller coaster will carry on. I will have no control. None. I will always struggle against the tide. Hopefully I will recognize the ups quickly. So that I can appreciate them. Recognize the lows before they break me. Talk to my support team. Reach out for help. Do all the things I’ve learn to slow or stop the train. To ensure I can somehow continue to live. Yet in extrutiating pain. It’s an awful feeling. I not truly living at all. And then those old feelings peek their heads up. Sometimes quietly unheard. Other times roaring in. The desire to be sick again. To be suicidal. To feel numb. To not care – no – to be oblivious to the feelings of others. Therefore to have no responsibilities. If I am that far gone I will be allowed to be alone. Those paid to do so, but usually care, try to pull me up. Offering me a place on their life raft. I don’t care.
So at the moment I try to stay just about the surface. Carry on my role as a strong matriarch. Fighting again the pull of oblivion. Keeping the pack together. Keeping the dementors* at bay hopefully forever, but at least until this crisis has resolved.
* If you don’t know what a dementor is you must have been living under a rock. Use google my friend.