Drowning in the Well

Dear Hearts,

I am not going to write a long post, but I’ve said that before. I am 39 and all I want to do on a Friday night is color.

I over-did it this week. The sense of being on vacation here is gone—I live here. I live here. But, I don’t feel tethered yet.

I got caught up in all the “oughts” and “shoulds.”

When did it happen? When did I break? When did I crack?

Going to Walmart is anxiety producing. Bills, phone calls, paperwork, real life…it all scares me.

“I prefer not to.”

In the back of my mind, I was always on disability for not any “real” reason. But, ya’ know what. I am on disability for a reason. The world has become too much for me. And that scares me. What if I can never handle the world again?

I think G-Pa unknowingly—and I didn’t realize it until just now—trigged a PTSD point for me.

Cousins came today. And EVERYTHING in the living room had to put away. I am just not unpacked yet. I have two piles of still—not terribly messy—and a chair full of coloring and cross stitch. It all had to go away. My cowboy boots got put in my room and the garbage that is by the sink got put in G-Pa’s room. My hats were put on my bed. BAD LUCK.

T.’s garbage was so full of beer bottles. Dozens. Why? Why was I so stupid? Any port in the storm.

I don’t want to go to Mass tomorrow. I want to stay home and nest (unpack). A panic attack, two Xanax, and a two-hour nap took up my nesting time today. Even now I’m looking at the word count to see if I’ve written an acceptable amount.

I want to cry. I need to cry.

I can’t dim out the demons—the voices of what I ought and should to rather than what I want to do. And, I try to be good enough for everyone.

The best volunteer at Burning Bed for a job I’m not ready for. The best grand-daughter. The best niece. The best daughter. The best…what…? 368 words.

500 at least are expected.

I wish I were 10 years old again and playing Barbies and Magical Beasts with my heart-mate E. I know I had my OCDs then—but I remember being happy. Like catching myself looking up at E. and feel the prick on tears on the bridge of my nose because I was so happy. Grateful.

Thoughts of all the badness, the hurt, the failure, T.—it all fills my head tonight. 

God?

I feel like I need to get away. But get away from what?? I CAME HERE TO GET AWAY. I feel panicked. I look totally normal on the outside, but inside I am screaming and running around pulling out my hair. When did I crack? When did I break?

God?

Mother Mary?

499 (500 including 499)

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel.

PS: What about my house, my car, my pension, retirement, job, future, bills, episodes...what about...what if..It would be so easy just to take Xanax and sleep with Angel's head in my palm.