UnOriginal

It's Sefira but I can't stop myself from listening to music. I get the reasoning. Music has a tremendous power. It has this absolute control over me. But it doesn't make me happy. Does that justify things?

Music makes me sad. The lyrics place me in a trance. The beat manages to push its way into my veins. The emotion and feeling in the singer's voice take over my soul. It becomes an out of body experience. Completely overwhelming.  All encompassing. Shouldn't all that be a reason not to listen.

But I can't stop. I want the loss of control. I need the emotional release. I crave feeling. Feeling something. Anything. Even if they are not original. Even if they are not mine. For one moment, I can feel something. And that's the point. That's all that matters.

One Tiny Little Pawn

I did it.
Took the first step.
Again.
Agreed to play the game.
Showed up.
Faced my opponent.
I made a move.
Moved one pawn.
One tiny little pawn.
I committed.
It's just one move.
But it starts the game.
Gets the ball rolling.

Timer is ticking.

Do you know who I am?

I write because I might explode. If I don't get certain thoughts out of my head, I'm not sure what I could do.

I come to see you and you barely show emotion. No recognition on your face. You sit in your chair and refuse to communicate. Do you know I'm here. Do you know who I am. 

You won't eat. You won't talk. Your family sits around you. Do you know who we are. Do you care. Do you realize that we have sacrificed our lives for you. Again. Constantly. Never ending. 

Do you realize that the roles are reversed. Have always been. That I take YOU to the bathroom. Force you to sit down. That I'm the one putting a diaper on YOU. Then I lay in bed with you and hold you. As you sleep in my arms, taking up a third of the bed and whimpering in your sleep. 

I wonder what you're thinking. Are their any thoughts in your head. Complete emptiness. Do you recognize me. Do you think I'm your mother. Are you used to me being your caretaker. Who else would do such things. Do you even know who I am. Do you trust just anyone. Are you slightly more comfortable with me. 

And I try not to let my mind wander. No thinking allowed. Feelings are not ok. Shut down. Tucked in a little corner. In the back of my head. In a crevice in my heart. I cannot choose me. Never the first priority. Must be strong. And take care of everyone else. That is my destiny. It's why I was placed on this earth. For you. For them. This is who I am. I am the way I am because of you. 

Do you know that. Do you know that you gave me life and then wrecked it. Do you know that I have nothing. Am nothing. For you. Because of you. Do you know. And now what. How long can this go on. How long can I fake this reality. This truth. Your truth. 

When do I get to have a mother.

On Whose Terms?

I wonder what god wants from us. Why he created a messed up world. Does he have high expectations of us or does he know we will all fail. I wonder why he created pain and misery. Why some people are born with happy dispositions and others are in constant agony.

Is it normal that I'm the happiest person in my family. When I'm really faking it. Being strong for everyone else. So the family won't totally fall apart. Each person is suffering in their own depression. Slowly suffocating on their own terms. 

I just spent the last two hours in a bar. Not for me. But for my father. Who is severely depressed. Everything he has worked his life for is slipping through his fingers. The love of his life, the woman he treasures doesn't know who he is. Is falling through the cracks. Farther and farther away from him. I watch him drink  beer after beer, as I sip my sprite. And I wish I could be the one getting drunk. I wish I could be the one letting go. But it's never my time. I must always be strong. 

And then I drive him home. Once again the responsible one. Never let off the hook. We laugh and joke. About her funeral. What we would say for our hespedim. How he would announce his engagement. We are sick. Sicker than people could ever know. Then I say that no eulogizing is allowed in Nissan. And we laugh some more. 

We get home and I tuck him into his bed. And then I sit here in a quiet house. Alone. And I feel nothing. A lifetime of nothing, I think about all the people I've lost. Who've left for one reason or another. Those that I cut out. Some that I've pushed away. All gone. To constantly protect myself. Because it's the only way I could continue to function. How much could a human being withstand. How can I survive when the past refuses to let me go. Holds me hostage. Floods my mind. The present stretches out, pushing the future away from reach. 

Where's the hope. What does hope even mean. It's all unattainable. So forgive me if I don't have energy to respond. To be the person you need me to be. I'm doing the best I can. And that's as honest as you're gonna get. I'm still alive. And that's a daily struggle. I'm still alive. For now. 

My message to you

If one more person asks me how old I am and then tells me that my life is not over. That I should choose to make my life better. I'm going to scream. I can't bite my tongue anymore. Am I choosing to be miserable. Am I choosing this unhappiness. Do I have anything to show for myself. Do I have anyone to go home to. Am I wanted anywhere. Is it so easy for you to tell me to snap out of it. To get help. Go on medication. You have all the answers. And I'm once again a failure. You can call me a fair weather atheist. Whatever floats your boat. He can keep spitting in my face. Laughing at me and my pathetic life. Let the lightening strike I'm ready. I have a message for all of you. Fuck off.