Seems so odd that the thing that has terrified me so much for longer than I can bear to think about is now the event I'm rushing to with open arms like one thirsts for water in the desert.  I want it more than all the trips, parties, fun trinkets put together.  Those things were only bought to slate the pain anyway.  I have freely admitted for years now, that I bought like mad in Italy to try and feel normal most of what we have now was bought in a quiet, unspoken desperation to feel something, and it worked, that day anyway. But the morning's light would bring it back to me again and so on want the sad spree to fill me up again for another few hours.  It was like a fix, but it didn't fix anything.  I might have admitted to the world, but only now do I realize how sad it was.  Ken want along with the whole charade because deep down he was also quietly suffering.  Now he's better and I stand alone in this dark embrace.  I'm being held tighter than my husband or children could ever hold me, an insect in the wind trying to cling to the concrete, praying I won't blow away, knowing all the while that a million more dangers await when the wind quiets.  I am touched deeply by how much I am loved.  Everything that man does is a genuine attempt to shield me from my world and keep me glued together.  When one pedal wilts and falls it is quickly fitted back on with crazy glue.  I don't deserve it.  I've been a burden far longer than a help.  But this man keeps up his tireless efforts day in and day out none the less.  I owe it to him to be the woman he remembers, and I try desperately to be normal for his sake.  Though I have never been worthy of such and exhausting efforts, without him and the kids I would die.  Those children have the innate ability to bring a smile to the cracked shell of a soul.  A hug from them brings a warm rush of feeling back to parts of me I thought were dead, and I would live a million years frozen in this cage before ever letting them see an ounce of sorrow.  They are the breath left in me.
I feel like I'm glued here.  I have realized that the most fascinating parts of my appeal and personality were either caused by my depression, or an attempt to hide it.  What if I am not the same person in a few weeks?  I'm enthralled and terrified.  I hate this space, but it's home.  What will I do if not embraced with this strangle hold around my neck?  Can I even be free?  Or am I so far into the system that I cannot function, like a man getting out of prison who then realizes they can no longer mingle in the crowd and be like their fellow man because they haven't the skills?  I'm scared.  Then again, right now it seems peaceful to be a robot, with a smile held together held together with strings of pills and doctor's visits.  No one realizes that when they grow up they won't be an astronaut or a famous singer, but will be contented by the idea of trading in their overly complicated personalities for a shallow happy husk, the heavy grief transformed into a speck, a dull ache easily dealt with.  A robot never feels despondent, weak, self loathing, useless.  I am sitting in the eye of my own personal tornado.  I'm so lonely but all I want to do is be alone.  Shut them all out.  I cannot function around them properly and with that smile anymore.   I wish that I could disappear, unzip my skin and leave it here, so I could be no one again.      

There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There's no knowing where we're rowing
Or which way the river's flowing
Is it raining?
Is it snowing?
Is a hurricane a-blowing?
Not a speck of light is showing
So the danger must be growing
Are the fires of hell a-glowing?
Is the grisly reaper mowing?
Yes, the danger must be growing
'Cause the rowers keep on rowing
And they're certainly not showing
Any signs that they are slowing!

-WW

It always spoke to me about being messed up, depressed, aware of it but unable to find the tools to fix it. About the person or people who normally help you cope are finally having enough, and pulling away, and how much that hurts, even though you understand why. But also, how annoying and frustrating those people are too, always saying things along the lines of (though not always as banal) "cheer up" or "it'll get better" "it's not that bad, could be worse,"
When you're in that situation, that emotional headspace, those sentiments get annoying, if cheering up is that easy, how bout you just "reach down your hand in your pocket, pull out some hope for me?"
You wanna say you're feeling fine but you  don't wanna lie so you just avoid answering the question or you just smile and look away.  Always comment on your children in turn, it's not lying the kids are great.  Sometimes you enthusiastically reply great!  All the while you're thinking maybe if I can just say I'm great in my head a hundred times I'll believe it, remember to smile, remember to hug, try to answer the phone more, it might be true if I lie to me enough.  In a breath I can lie to everyone and it makes me ashamed of myself.  But my head is screaming "help me!  Don't fall for it, push me I'm lying and if you walk away I'm a little scared of being alone with myself!"  Sure enough most of my friends have drifted off.  I'm happy for them, they can't pull me out anyway, all I can do is drag them down.  I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs.  I can't grieve properly for myself, I have emotionally died and I can't grieve because then everyone would pity me for being like her.  I hate her.  She made me like this without the courtesy of taking my sanity so I get to strap in and embrace the pain, wide awake.  What a cunt.  If I don't say it out loud it doesn't exist, if I just leave it it will run it's course.  Please.  Truth be told I don't see a way out at all, I hurt so deeply every waking moment that it seems infinite, to my core, clinging to my ribs and dancing on my brain.  So sharp I imagine only the deaths of children would be more painful.  I've never dealt with it before.  I had no idea.  All of a sudden I have more respect for Max.
As the late sylvia plath wrote in the Bell Jar...
"The sickness rolled through me in great waves. After each wave it would fade away and leave me limp as a wet leaf and shivering all over and then I would feel it rising up in me again, and the glittering white torture chamber tiles under my feet and over my head and all four sides closed in and squeezed me to pieces." "I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my eyes and all is born again."
"The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence." "To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream."
"I am supposed to be having the time of my life." "And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long." "Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace."  Two am and I can't sleep so I'm looking up Plath quotes because no words can properly express the decay in my head and the torture it's been putting me through since the dawn of time I remember having these in Italy, these breakdowns.  I wrongly and crushingly believed moving home would fix me.  I lost any faith in god and I often wonder if the depression took that from me.  Puts Loosing My Religion in a new perspective.  But then I guess everything's already in a new perspective for me.  Like this world has been covered in soot.  Nothing's beautiful.  Everything's dirty.  It seems a shame that my poor little overtaxed brain should be rapid firing this shit off at me until everything freezes every few days.  Today I'm running rapid fire again and with not sleeping I desperately need the shut down but I just sit in the dark rapid firing pain, self doubt, guilt, shame, deep sadness and it feels like a cage around me that I will never be free of and will someday die in.  Do I even remember ever feeling real happiness?  I'm not sure... the results are in sad sad sad sad sad sad sad sad sad sad sad, death.  What a waste, this is my life?  This is how it's going to be?  What the hell am I going to do with that?  Why did I sign up?  What do I have to learn?  Is it all chance?  Are tortured souls just dealt out at random?  I'm simply overwhelmed.     

done

I am so so done.  I hate this state, I hate these people, I hate this awful, mean, unjust world.  I'm not threatening suicide, that would be insane.  But I'm getting rid of my facebook page, turning off my phone, and am going to cry in the closet for a while.