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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Relentless

I close my eyes and try to breathe through the pain.

It’s been hours.

It comes in waves that swell and overtake rational thought.

But there is a focus that persists, leading me back to clarity with each cleansing breath.

Bring her out!

Do not relent!

Suddenly I am holding her in my arms.

Catapulted.

Disoriented.

Exposed.

She is crying.

I am holding her.

Twenty years
have squelched
  the magic
   of her head
    on my chest.

My lullabies cannot soothe
and my touch
  on her face
   brings little comfort.

I wonder how this can even be possible.

How are we here now,
in this place,
  with all of this pain?

Wasn’t it just a few moments ago that

        I promised her

                 the moon

                           and
 
                           the stars

                                    as I rocked her

                                                by their light?

Where are the stars?

Where has the moon gone?

Did we tell him goodnight one too many times?

I am holding her.

She is crying.

I will not relent!

I will bring her out!