Sleepless Thoughts

Lost time

The weight of sorrow bears down on me, tearing the covers from my soul.

Dear God! It’s 4 am. I just want to sleep! I try deep breathing for the umpteenth time, this time my mind stills just enough to settle on a single thought.

Everything I’d dreamed I’d give my children has been left unfulfilled. The time is gone and I have failed.

Fuck.

The tears come, drenching my pillow until it’s so wet I can’t stand the cold dampness against my face, and I shove it to the floor. Qeue neck ache for tomorrow.

My children will never know what might have been if they had been raised with security instead of scarcity; what it’s like to grow up without losing everything…more than once.

It tears me apart inside and the sobs come uncontrollably. 

This was not my plan. I didn’t have one of those. I didn’t know I needed one. I wish I’d known.

If you read this, and know me, you’ll want to point out the good parts, the overcoming stories. Please don’t. I’m well aware of how strong I am and how “resilient” children are. I’m painfully aware of the many different ways anxiety and depression can manifest in children, preteens, teens, and young adults. I’m  exhausted by the struggle to find competent, affordable people to help them heal. I don’t need to be told that they’ll be okay, stronger, and better for having endured so much. I know them better than I know my own reflection in a mirror. What they’ve gained because of the struggle isn’t the point, but what’s been lost.

I don’t need to be reminded to stay positive and pray for peace.

What I need is to sit with this for a while. I need to be allowed to own my failings and feel my feelings.  I need to mourn the hopes and dreams I had for their upbringing, and apparently I need to write about it in order to do so.

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In the immortal words of David Lee Roth…..”Might as well jump.” ;)

Obedience. It’s not easy. For me it’s this. Literally “this”. Writing. I feel the fire of  it in my bones. I am awakened in the night by a cacophony of pains and realizations, sorrows and angry questions just screaming to be spelled out. Even then, I can stare off in space deluding myself that I have nothing to say. I prefer the safety of happy days and the joy of triumphant moments to pilot my musings. So I have many days void of posts, many empty journal pages, many years of disobedience. I could say that this is a new revelation and go on with some poignantly repentant, scripture laced prose on the subject. It’s not new information to me though. Why is it so hard? Why do I petrify at the thought of being vulnerable? Mind you, if you asked around, my circle of acquaintances would likely tell you that I’m very open and “out there” with my life’s goings on. They are grossly mistaken. I guard well the depths of me. I have mastered the art of interesting nothingness.  After all, what is the point? Does anybody give two cents about my perspective or possible revelation on any subject? Who cares and why should they? Even if I were to say something that resonated with someone’s heart right at that precise moment they would most likely forget all about it within minutes, or at best hours. So why on earth would anyone, in their right mind, write out of pain, fear, sorrow, frustration? I have clearly looked at this from every angle. What it comes down to is this,not everyone would or should do such a thing. Many have done it and done it well. I have been changed by their words. So I suspect that maybe God would just like me to obey. Maybe He has something to say that only I can say in a way that the one person who needs to hear it will identify with. Maybe their life will be bettered by its having been written. Maybe I’m nuts. The one thing I’m certain of is that I feel that my life may depend on it. I have a story to tell. So with a deep breath…I’m jumping off of this cliff.