Today is the last day, The blinds will be closed. The coffee runs sour. The twitch in my eye.
They'll be awake soon. My beating hearts. They are snuggled in their beds, safe from the complexities of the world. I, their shield. “Someday you will ache like I do,” I whisper out to them, wishing that I could curl up to them and be absorbed in their peaceful dreams. “But not today.”
And maybe the sometimes stagnant part of my life right now just is begging for the destructive drama that my first relationship imprinted on me. Life is perfect now so let's destroy, says the drunken witch of PTSD... the inner demon HE had left behind.
Now, I just got the news my sister is currently rushing her little man to the emergency room per instructions from her family dr. He is only a week old. They don’t prepare you for this shit. And though it is not me going through this, time still stops as we all just hold our breaths as our newest family memeber perhaps is in respiratory distress.
I've got a secret. A secret addiction that I hide from everyone, including myself. A morbid curiousity of sadness that makes me unable to exist in the happiness I am surrounded by.
You are my mom. But somewhere along the line I became the nurturer. The unconditional love between us has allowed us to ignore our identities as people and to just fall into these roles that are locked in the guilt and hurt that strikes me at the core.... over and over and over again.
Happiness is a strange construct - it is an ever-distancing line in the sand that just tempts us into believing that things can be better. It's the cheap sugary cereal of the breakfast foods - it lies about being healthy, gives you a rush of sugar, and never really fills you up.