Deflated and Mangled

Oct 03, 2005 17:23

SUNDAY

And so now, I guess I should tell the rest.

How I was driving down the road and my tire deflated for no apparent reason. Tread was fine, no puncture. And it was no mystery to me, not really, but rather a simile. Deflated like me, for no apparent reason at all.

We carried on, getting the tire fixed. Everything there was dirty and bleak, hot and I could barely hold my head up. I watched the only bit of color, a yellow butterfly, get sucked into the industrial fan, shredded and spit out in our direction.

We bought groceries, to the bookstore, I don't know what else, just errands. Got out the grill and cooked up a big dinner on the deck, realizing it was the first time the four of us had a proper meal together in awhile. We listened to music and I found a tape of Kyle singing while James played guitar from when he was five. It was one of those nights that was perfect. Or, you know, I would have thought so before...

Before what? I don't fucking know. Please somebody explain this thing that is happening in my head. I read the words, I listen to what the doctors say and I don't understand. I know that this isn't what I want. Crying myself to sleep at night.

MONDAY

And today I thought, oh, it will be okay. And it was for awhile. We went to the orthodontist and we read and we did math and things like that. James and I practiced dancing and I sat down on the floor and I was drinking some tea and what can I say? It is like I could feel someone rearranging the contents of my brain and everything was different and I didn't feel the same about anything anymore and nothing was okay and I couldn't stop crying and I can't tell you what I was thinking because it would make you sick.

So I try to call that fucking doctor. This medicine, it is not working. Okay, she can't see me, but can she at least talk to me, please? Because there is no point in going to the emergency room like last time and just sleeping in the back room only to have them tell me that there aren't any beds at any of the psychiatric hospitals. I could just stay right here at home to know that. Could she just talk to me and maybe we could do something about these meds? And then that phantom voice James from her office calls, the man I've never met, he does call and he says take a little more of this and really, though, you should go to the E.R., but take some more of this and call me in a few days and I say okay.

I will try that. But I don't know. I don't know. How this has happened to me. Why. I just want to have normal days, to be a good mom and home school my kid and get him ready to face the world. To write stuff and fix up my house and love on my boyfriend and hang out with my friends and just... live without this mental suffering that makes no sense. I feel that I have failed. I am not strong enough, smart enough, or brave enough to maneuver through this world and that is why my brain is breaking down on me.
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