Just 2 Tired

Well… Here I am at 25. More confused than when I was 14…. Lost for 11 years. Wandering, somewhere out there alone. In a world full of trauma and pain. Not understanding where I am going, or even what I want to do. My father who was my best friend died in an accident. A month before my birthday. Right before Father’s day… My mother met an addict and decided that she wanted a different life. So when she got out of jail, she moved out of state and gave her children up to be wards of the state…

The rest of my family disappeared as well leaving me to take care of my sibling. Taking guardianship of her until she turned 18. And now I get drunken phone calls from a scared little girl. Wanting to die. She is doing everything I did. Drinking and driving, contemplating/attempting suicide…. Living in an abusive relationship and yet, I know that if I lecture her, she will disappear again. Not speaking to me for another year. Maybe longer next time…. her mentor and woman she considers family trying to kill herself as well. Leaving my sister wondering who WON’T leave her…. Same as I did. 

A boyfriend relying on her as much as my ex of 6 years did to me. Leaving her with black eyes and feelings of worthlessness. And yet, I’m sure she thinks that she could never do better…. I battle with ADD, was diagnosed with major depressive disorder. I have this personality that one either loves or hates… I have no friends, just acquaintances. And as I lost 50 lbs recently, I have all this new found attention. That I don’t think I want anymore. It’s for all the wrong reasons. 

When i was 13, I took a bottle of aspirin. I knew I wouldn’t die… But I was screaming for my mom’s attention. And a few years ago I attempted again. With pills and liquor in my system. I managed to really do it to myself. Ending up in the ICU. I saw the way the nurses and doctors looked at me. As if I was some nut. But I was just tired. So tired. Of dealing with my ex, of being in school with no help… Of my sister needing me to be the adult. Giving her food, picking her up from out of state or when she was drunk at someone’s house. I don’t know that anyone will ever understand the tremors of one’s life… Or the pain that sometimes succeeds at taking over and running things. Until you feel like you are drowning. And your head slips under for the last time in an unforgiving world. 

I realize I am fortunate. Having a place to live. A job that leads nowhere but helps to pay the bills. But it’s getting too hard to watch everyone I know having children and getting married. Having great careers and great families and I wake up each and every morning still confused. Still lost… Still alone. Not sure if I am sane enough to be with anyone, and not wanting to be alone. Why would I want to put these burdens on anyone else? People keep telling me how strong I am for dealing with the things I had to deal with in my life…. But I always tell them that it wasn’t strength. That I was just an ordinary girl put in extraordinary circumstance. I dealt with things enough to survive, same as anyone else would if put in the same position. 

I am no longer suicidal, because I don’t think I care enough to try anymore. I am just a shadow, living among a billion more. Trying my hardest to define myself. Born with only enough talent to survive. A talent with poetry. Poetry… Seriously? I think that God and I have a very complex relationship. Close to null and void, but I do wear a bracelet that says “It was then that I carried you” because of all the stupid, drunken, suicidal things I have done I should have died 100 times over. Including flipping my car. Being in dangerous neighborhoods, with even more dangerous people. And drinking enough to kill a small horse… A million times over. But… I have a healthy liver still, (Doctors have told me that that isn’t possible with everything I have done to it) 

I have no answers to what anyone of us is doing with our lives, what we SHOULD do (Myself included) Or where we are going. Sadly, I am coming to the conclusion that I will always survive. Just barely. And I will never truly  be happy or successful. I will not win any awards or affect anyone with my words. I will not save any lives, or change any lives. I will always….just be me. Clinging on to the edge with my nails. Staring down into an abyss. Wondering if it’s worth it to just let go already. 

THROUGH PAINTED EYES

She looks through painted eyes. Eyes that have become cloudier throughout the years. Eyes that have seen torment, and loneliness. She searches through the faces, but sees no one she recognizes anymore. And so she casts her eyes back to the ground to watch the pavement move as she walks. She wakes up each morning to work her blue collar job. Not because she is unintelligent, but because she never got the chance to make things right. She dare not look into the sky for fear of her father’s judgement shine down on her. (Though he would never.) She thinks of the family that abandoned her once, and over and over again throughout the years. Believing it to be the best choice for her perhaps. And once her feet hit the floor of her gray dilapidated apartment building and she is inside safe. She shuts the door and locks it. Sighing. Thankful to be free of her working prison for the evening. She looks around and feels safe again. Free from the thoughts and judgments of others, from their complex emotions and stares. She is 25, and loves all kinds of music. But today, Rachmaninov seems more appropriate. Tragic music to suit her tragic life. At 25, the world has grown gray and cold. And when she works, she stares at the couples… Young and old, each holding something dear to them. One another… She sees their feelings as they connect with a kiss. Or perhaps a father and a daughter, a mother with her family. She yearns not just for a family, but for HER family… The one promised to her when she lie on her mother’s chest. Listening to the lull of her heart. She pushes those feelings back down and continues to work harder and faster than before. Praying for it to numb her, for a little while longer. This girl finally makes it home again at night. She takes off her learned smile… And tucks the skeletons back into her closet. Curling up in the corner of her bed for the evening, and closes her eyes….She knows that soon, she will have to wake up…. She will stare into the face of the person she recognizes the least… Into her own painted eyes. Eyes that have become cloudier through the years.

I realize how long and incoherent this post is… But I guess just having it out there is enough. Because these thoughts weigh my mind constantly. Endlessly. Hopelessly. A never ending paradox of morbidity.