disconnect
i go from counting pills to checking add/drop deadlines
from assessing a blade's sharpness to making reading lists
from planning parties to contemplating my funeral
i remember when we studied Plath in my American Women Poets class and the prof claimed she didn't think Sylvia meant to kill herself because her planner was so full and she had so many projects underway
for me, there is no surer indication of suicide...
because you agonize over living before you make the decision to die
because you don't really want to die but it's either death or pain
inescapable invisible incomprehensible intolerable indefatigable mental anguish
i've been doing this for 35 years
i'm tired of psyching myself up
maybe tomorrow will be better
but the better never comes
and i'm a zombie dragging from one day to the next
all i can do is curl up in bed with my eyes closed and despise the dark inside my lids
i will never write the way i should
i will never love the way i should
i will never work the way i should
i will never sing the way i should
i will never mother the way i should
i will never be the way i should
because so much of me is consumed by THIS
and it's true: the only reason I'm alive right now is because I'm too much of a coward to try again. it's not because of my kids or my husband or my ambitions or my anything. i'm afraid of trying and failing again. because life doesn't give up easy. the body is sturdier than you think. if i could will my heart to stop, i would. if i could put a bullet in my brain i would. if i had access to some no fail method to take myself out, i'd do it. it took fistfuls of pills to knock me out nearly 12 years ago and even that wasn't fast enough, they still snatched me back. so here i am still plagued--only with 3 more lives suffering because i can't get my shit straight. no doubt they will miss me. no doubt my death will leave holes in their hearts but would those holes be bigger than the ones left if i stay alive and continue to fail them? i'm not there for them either way...
so do i swallow all the pills i have dumped out on the counter? every time i get my prescription filled i think--is this enough? should i hoard pills and wait like i did in 2004? but i don't have access to the amounts of drugs i had then because then i stole all my mother's left over medication--every pill they tried her on to treat her depression and deemed ineffective--every last one went into my little box. i took them out of their bottles so i would forget what they were--so they were nothing but yellow and green and peach and white circles and ovals--candy colored and harmless-looking. right now all i have are the drugs i get prescribed and the doc is smart enough to prescribe just enough to get me to my next appointment. i don't have opportunity to amass because if i don't take the pills i'm prescribed, i go through withdrawal. so all i have is the hope that the freshly filled prescriptions will be enough.
i have 2 full bottles at my disposal right now.
from assessing a blade's sharpness to making reading lists
from planning parties to contemplating my funeral
i remember when we studied Plath in my American Women Poets class and the prof claimed she didn't think Sylvia meant to kill herself because her planner was so full and she had so many projects underway
for me, there is no surer indication of suicide...
because you agonize over living before you make the decision to die
because you don't really want to die but it's either death or pain
inescapable invisible incomprehensible intolerable indefatigable mental anguish
i've been doing this for 35 years
i'm tired of psyching myself up
maybe tomorrow will be better
but the better never comes
and i'm a zombie dragging from one day to the next
all i can do is curl up in bed with my eyes closed and despise the dark inside my lids
i will never write the way i should
i will never love the way i should
i will never work the way i should
i will never sing the way i should
i will never mother the way i should
i will never be the way i should
because so much of me is consumed by THIS
and it's true: the only reason I'm alive right now is because I'm too much of a coward to try again. it's not because of my kids or my husband or my ambitions or my anything. i'm afraid of trying and failing again. because life doesn't give up easy. the body is sturdier than you think. if i could will my heart to stop, i would. if i could put a bullet in my brain i would. if i had access to some no fail method to take myself out, i'd do it. it took fistfuls of pills to knock me out nearly 12 years ago and even that wasn't fast enough, they still snatched me back. so here i am still plagued--only with 3 more lives suffering because i can't get my shit straight. no doubt they will miss me. no doubt my death will leave holes in their hearts but would those holes be bigger than the ones left if i stay alive and continue to fail them? i'm not there for them either way...
so do i swallow all the pills i have dumped out on the counter? every time i get my prescription filled i think--is this enough? should i hoard pills and wait like i did in 2004? but i don't have access to the amounts of drugs i had then because then i stole all my mother's left over medication--every pill they tried her on to treat her depression and deemed ineffective--every last one went into my little box. i took them out of their bottles so i would forget what they were--so they were nothing but yellow and green and peach and white circles and ovals--candy colored and harmless-looking. right now all i have are the drugs i get prescribed and the doc is smart enough to prescribe just enough to get me to my next appointment. i don't have opportunity to amass because if i don't take the pills i'm prescribed, i go through withdrawal. so all i have is the hope that the freshly filled prescriptions will be enough.
i have 2 full bottles at my disposal right now.