Unglued, Undone, Unraveled
I’m trying to keep it together, I really am. But it’s like I can feel the molecules in my body vibrating under the constant stress of trying not to break down. It’s damned exhausting. I’ve spent the last couple of years walking a forced path of normalcy- clinging to quiet moments – looking forward to when we can finally stop worrying, to when everything will be okay.
But it’s never been okay. The safe, measured, NORMAL direction I needed and wanted was fiction and I’m out of ideas.
Today was a bad day. By 8 p.m., I could barely get a sentence out without yelling or crying…for no good reason. I’m worried about work, about being able to concentrate on my clients and their projects. I need each and every one of them, but I can’t fucking focus.
I’m worried about Emily, who keeps looking at me, on high alert for the slightest tear.
I’m worried about Ana, who is in good spirits and seems so healthy that it’s almost possible for me to forget that the roller coaster is on the way down…again.
But I’m nearly forgetting the purpose of this post. I’m worried about the language I used in Friday’s post – the term “bucket list” which has haunted me since the moment I posted it. I want to change it and I need you to help me because it’s sucking the strength right out of my body. Let’s call it a wish list, okay? Let’s grant Ana’s wishes with the knowledge that she has a hard road ahead of her, but there is still hope that she’ll beat this. She’s been through so much already, and she has every right to scream “NO!” and refuse to keep trying, but after two days of letting the reality settle in, and considering her options, she did what she’s always done – made a smart, brave and life-affirming decision to keep trying, to keep living.
Screw the bucket list. Crumple it up. Erase it from your brain. This is a wish list, an achievement list, a I’m-going-to-keep-fighting list. And no one deserves it more than my kid.
(thanks for listening to me vent)