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.
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