I can't. My body won't move. I'm stuck. The moment I realize it... it's too late. A moth to the flame. I am caught. Caught in the web. Tangled in the bullshit. I'm not here. I'm physically occupying space. At least... I think I am.... But. I'm not here. I'm not ever here. I can hear the laughter. The words become far away. A jumbled mess of mumbles. I hear the laughter. I missed the cue. I missed the words. I don't know where I am. I'm back! I say and I don't know where I've ever been. How did I get here? A month has gone by and I can't fit into any of my pants and I just lay on my side and stare. I check out. I check in. I check out. I think I'm mostly not home. I'm just. Not even existing. Occupying space. Somehow I keep occupying the space I'm in. It hits me like a ton of bricks. Like an anvil in my legs. I am made of stone. I am solid and unmoving. I can't make any sense of it. Because I start to and then I can't move. I can't see. I can't breathe. I make excuses to continue to stare. No one tries to help me out of it. No one sees it. I just lay on my side and stare. I remember when I used to feel this way and I had someone pull me out of it. To get up and move. Keep me going. Maybe I never did. I don't remember anything anymore. My brain stops functioning. I made a lot of mistakes and now I can't seem to find my footing to get back up again. The losing is taking me down harder than I ever thought it would. This was my chance. My opportunity. It's like I don't want to get ahead. Not truly. I don't believe I can do it. I don't believe in myself anymore. I had these childish goals. Learn piano so I can sing and write music. Get a degree in science so I can be a scientist. Get out of debt so I can be independent. What the fuck was I thinking? Now I want to move away from all the people that hold me down. Everyone I trusted had a hand on a limb and every time I thought I was getting away, I was pulled back down until I gave up fighting. Every time I heard that "little voice" inside my head tell me I am not smart enough. I don't have enough time. I don't have enough of anything. That wasn't inside my head. That was my family holding me down. Telling me I can't do it. Just little side comments. They don't even know they do it to me. They instill a fear that I had already told myself was just a little voice. They gave it a soapbox and a megaphone. And now I can't unhear it. I'm not good enough for this. For anything. I'm a bad mom. A lazy person. Fat. Ugly on the inside. I don't have time to go to school. I can't afford to be a single mom. Maybe having an emotionally abusive husband was better for me. Then I could at least have someone to hug sometimes. Someone to occupy the space on the other end of the bed.
I'm back.
It's the bathtub again.
Filled once again with that tar. The never ending expanding of nothing. The nothingness that won't let me go. That pushes me under until I can no longer see any light at all.
This isn't an inspirational post.
I let the sea carry me out. And now I'm drowning. But, I gave up on swimming. On fighting. I'm just. Occupying space until I don't anymore. Sucking in the water and just.... letting it take me over.
I am in a bedroom. There's a light and a tv on in the other room. It's a warm yellow light. The lights aren't my house. I don't know where I am. It's familiar in a nostalgic sort of way- but I don't think I am really here. I am in a memory or... someone else's? The point is that I know what I'm supposed to do. I'm supposed to make sure he's happy. To please him. Any way I can. I make eye contact with him and he gives me a knowing sort of look. A snarky eye roll. As if this other woman could do what you do. I look at her and I encourage her. Even though I know she can't do what I do. She can't make him happy like I do. So I just bide my time until he makes her feel bad and then I can swoop in and fix it all.
I'm uneasy. I don't like that feeling. The feelings. Any of it. I feel icky. Rubbed the wrong way. But, I can't also help all the feelings. Wanting to please the unappeasable. I try to make the feeling go away. It does.
I feel like I have more energy. This can roll off my back. It all can. Fuck it. Everything is coming up rainbows and snuggly kittens right now. I can be fine. I can get through this day and be all that I want to be. I can figure this out. I'm motivated. I sign myself up to do things that will inspire me. Push me. Get me off the fucking side. To move my legs. I move and it is only temporary. I don't see it. I don't see it coming. The bathtub waiting for me when I get home. The darkness that will inevitably creep up on me.
Better out than in... I tell myself I need to figure out what it is I'm holding onto. I need to let it go. Stop trying to hold onto all these feelings. I need them to go. They will come out in the worst way if I can't let them go.
Think of what you manifested back at the Lion's Gate... I search. I go back and I look. I find it. I remember what I was thinking. What I was doing. And you know what? I was angry. I was feeling... petty. Jealous. Toxic. I was not happy with how I looked or where I was in my job. I was unhappy with everything that I had built. I hate this foundation I built. There's fucking cracks everywhere. There's cracks!
I know. I know it. I know what I am supposed to do. What I am supposed to do. I know what I should do. What I should do... I know it. I feel it. It's just there. But.... I can't. I'm stuck. I am stuck. I am FUCKING stuck. STUCK. It's like the small goals I make for myself just keep... being far away. I can see it. I can fucking see it for myself and I can't even pull my arm up to grab it. I can't start. I can't move my legs. I try and I can't. I'm just.... occupying space.
Until I don't.
I want to end there.
I want that to be the end. I want that to be the ending of all this. To end this feeling. All these feelings. To just say- there's that then. If it's the end, maybe it'll be more tolerable. Pfft! Like just saying it makes it all better. "Fake it 'til you make it" doesn't do it today. It's a band-aid on guts spilled out. It is meaningless. It's hopeless. Faking it doesn't help today. I did it for a long time. I did well with it. I was happy. I actually felt happy. But then I kept attracting all these shitty dudes. It's like it doesn't matter if I fake it or not. They set up their traps and I fall right fucking into them. I find normal people and I can't be good enough for them. I just never will be good enough for a good man. It's just been predetermined in my DNA. My fucking junk DNA. I have all the potential to be close enough to achieving my goals- but they are always tied up in bullshit traps I can't get out of and before I know it- I've lost.
But I won't. I won't. I can't. It can't be it. It can't be the end for me. There's got to be more. There's more out there for me. I can't predict. I can't hope or dream anymore. I want so much more out of my life and I'm fucked. I'm screwed and I watch helplessly as my kids repeat the patterns I'm trying to break in my family. It's a huge burden. A huge weight. It's an anvil I can't bear to hold onto anymore. I need to... Drop it. I need to drop it and I don't know how. It's like I'm glued to it. I'm stuck to the trauma. I'm stuck thinking that it's all on me to fix. That this is just something I have to do on my own. I feel like screaming. I'M NOT FUCKING OKAY! I can't do any of this. It's too fucking hard! I feel like I'm getting help and all I can do is just let my limbs give out and lay where I fall. Just staring.
It's wintertime. It's wintertime and I can't get up. I can't get to the chair that the sun likes to hit at a certain time of day. The sun is shining and I lay there thinking I can't even get in it. I know. I know what you're thinking. Just... do that. Just... get up and do that. But. I can't. I can't. I can't!
I can just lay here and think about what I don't want to happen. I don't want to mess up. I don't want to fuck up my fairly easy (but unnecessarily complicated) job. I don't want to mess up and miss assignments. I don't want to fail this class. I don't want to feel stupid for not knowing the answers. I don't want to put on clothes and not like how I look. I don't want to lay around and do nothing. I don't want entire weeks to disappear and I don't know what I did. I don't want to feel like I do right now. That I'm sick and tired and I look like shit. I feel like utter shit. I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to envy people in love. I don't want to be frustrated. I don't want to feel like my family needs to stab me with judgmental comments. I don't want to get asked, are you okay? No. I'm not fucking okay. Okay? I've been through every type of abuse. I don't know how I'm still standing. But I am sometimes. When I have to be. I don't know why I'm still here. But I am. So. No. I'm not fucking okay. Okay? Are you okay with that half-assed excuse for a simple question that you know is loaded and that you won't even stand there long enough for me to answer one way or the other. I can't even- oh you've walked away. NICE TALK. I CAN'T keep having bullshit conversations. LET'S TALK ABOUT THE FUCKING WEATHER. Makes me wanna punch a wall with my head. I need to get to a better place. I need to get to a better place so the mundane becomes glitter again. I miss being happy-go-lucky. It sucks feeling like I should be sunshine and rainbows. But. All it does is rain.
Cold. Rain.
But, no. That can't be the end. What is the point of all my suffering? What is the fucking point!? There has to be something more for me. There fucking HAS TO. Is this all life is? Just fucking around wasting time and laying around feeling empty? Not even empty- filled to the brim with HEAVINESS. It's worse than feeling empty, because it's like I have NO ROOM. There's no room left for me. Or my goals. Or my wants and needs. Only the occupied space of the burdens of my past haunting me. Like fucking asshole ghosts made entirely of uranium. They don't fucking float around to haunt me. They weigh me down like a cold and dark rock.
I need to get my shit together. I am floating by and living. But I need to actually occupy this space. Not just... be here. Be a presence. Actually be a human again. I need to come into my body and make peace with these feelings. Let them go. Embrace them in farewell and watch them disappear like birds into the sky. Float away. Fly away. Get the hell away from me, stupid bad feelings. I want to stuff them into paper bags and set them on fire. Watch them collapse into nothing, like I have been feeling. Create space for myself again. Be inside myself again. Love myself again. I want these things for me. I deserve to have them. I want them. I need to make the room again. The room for possibility. One thing at a time.
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