20 Days

I went to the cemetery. It’s Rosh Chodesh Nissan. We’re not supposed to go during Nissan. We don’t get to go on the final day of shloshim. 

My mother is buried under that patch of ground. She is in a box. I don’t even know which way she is facing. Is her head up or down. Where are her feet. Her head. Has she started decomposing. 

It’s weird to stand there. I want to feel sad. I don’t understand how we’ve gotten here. Why has life brought us here. I don’t understand. The ground is sunken in over her box. The ground has settled. The marker at the foot of her grave has an incorrect date. In English and in Hebrew. How can they get such an important date wrong. 

My father cries when he reads tehillim out loud. Only then can I start feeling sad. Do the tears come. It hurts that she’s gone. I feel guilt that I have wished her dead for so many years. 

I miss visiting her. Holding her hand. Watching tv. Listening to music together. I miss her faces. I miss taking her outside and tanning in the park. I miss seeing her face so excited when I walk in the room. Throwing her hands up in excitement. I miss her knowing my name. 

I feel this constant guilt. And I wonder why I am not feeling sad. Why it’s so hard to cry. Why I mostly feel nothing. Empty. Walking around in a haze. 

I miss listening to music. The quiet is so hard. I need music to help me feel. It’s been twenty days without my mother. And everything feels so different. It feels so much harder to connect to my family. 

Feels so much harder to connect in general. Why am I so hard on myself. Why is there no clear way to deal with all of this. 

Twenty whole days without my mother. And I feel like I wasted all that time she was alive. I could have made the most of it. Instead I complained. I was bitter. I should have gotten to know her. Outside of the illnesses. I shouldn't have blamed her. I should have understood. 

And now it's too late. She's gone. She's in that grave. In that sunken in ground. With a marker that has the wrong date. And I am here in the silence. Trying to feel. 

Mourning

The Jewish mourning process is supposedly set up to help people mourn in stages. Five stages from what I've read in all those miserable books. Filled with rules and laws that no real human can follow. Maybe guidelines or traditions. Who knows.

The first stage is called ANINUT (or aninus for the Ashkenazic Americans). One who is in this in-between stage is called an ONEN. This person is free of all positive commandments. The law was established with the knowledge that all focus should be on the immediate death. I was in ONEN status for six hours.

It's not easy to get that call. And I have gotten it a few times over the years. The "you need to come now" call. And every time, I fly to the nursing home or hospital. Wherever we are spending our lives during those days. Driving like a maniac. Wondering is this it. Do I turn off the music. Do I run home and cut my nails. And, yeah, sometimes it was pretty scary. Walking into a hospital room. My family surrounding a large bed. With a very small person. My mother gasping for air.

But she has always made it through.

Except this time.

This was it. The final call. The call you think you have been preparing for your whole life. But when it comes. Total shock. Denial. Flying down the streets one last time. Maybe it is a false alarm. Maybe you misheard. Doubting your own ears. Your own comprehension. But you did hear it clearly. "Come now. Come now. Your mother is not doing well. You need to come now." And then within a few seconds, "she's very cold. She's dead." How can one deny such definitive words.

I entered the room and my mother was no longer. She was cold and grey. Her trach was disconnected. A gaping hole by her neck. Her eyes were slightly open. Limbs no longer stiff. Machines still beeping in the room. Feeding tubes and IV’s reaching to the floor. No longer attached. My father sitting by her side. Holding her hand. Crying silently.

My usual composure shattered. My cries uncontained. Sobbing. My mother died. My mother is dead. She lays before me but she is not there. I am motherless. I am an orphan. Have I willed this. This is what I always wanted. Freedom. From pain. For her. For me. Freedom from responsibility. So then why wasn't I ready. Why the intense shock. The overwhelming pain. How could I feel so alone. When she hasn't really been here for a long time. Maybe never.

Rabbi comes in and says we need to cover her. It's time. I scream and yell how I am not ready. I touch her feet. Something that she has always hated. Earlier years complaining. Recent years a grimace on her face. I stroke her face. Kiss her cheeks. There is no soul inside this hollow body. My mother died. My mother is dead.

We plan the funeral for later the same day. Allowing just enough time for family to come in from New York. The funeral home comes to wheel my mother's body out. All the doors are closed. We follow in sorrow. The tears just won't stop. At home, I shower and cut my nails. Not knowing when I will do them next. I sit on my bed to write my eulogy. Still regretting not speaking at Bubby's funeral. I will speak no matter how hard. No matter how painful.

At the funeral home, my siblings and family finally arrive. Thirty minutes after the service was supposed to begin. We all follow the casket. Of my dead mother. We enter a room filled with people. No seats left. People standing in every space available. No spare room to be found. In a box. In the front of the room. A large box. Way too big. My mother is dead. Inside this casket. A golden star of David on a blue cloth. Inside is my mother. My mother died. My mother is dead.

At the cemetery. We must rush. Have to beat the clock. Make it before the day becomes tomorrow. Lots of Rabbinic advisement. A rush job. Get the box in the ground. Cover it as fast as possible. So many people surrounding. All happening so fast. And then my brother says Kadish. For the first time. Something that he will have to say three times a day for the next year. Mourning publicly in front of a gathering of ten men. A minyan. Never to be missed. The mourners are ushered through two lines of people. One for the men and one for the women. And then we sit on the ground. Take off our shoes. We are officially in stage two.

The second stage includes the first three days of SHIVA, which immediately follow the burial. In an uncommon way. We started our Shiva at the cemetery. So as not to miss a minute. Delaying would cost us to sit Shiva another day. As we approach my father's house. Formerly my parents’ house, people are already on the porch. Waiting to comfort us. The mourners.

The point of this second stage is to allow mourners to experience their grief. Humans need time to be angry. To feel their feelings. Whatever they are. With no one to dictate how to behave. Mirrors are covered. Low chairs around the house. Hands to be washed. Washing away impurity. An egg to be eaten with bread. Symbolizing the circle of life. Perhaps. And in our case, due to the upcoming holiday, Shiva will only be during those three days. People will come in droves throughout the day. To comfort. Some to listen. Many to speak about themselves and their own pain or loss.

From early morning until late at night. I sat in that low chair. And I felt nothing. Empty. I laughed with some. But I could not remember any good memories to share. The disappointment in the picture painted of my mother. The careless things people said. The constant "well meaners." And yes. There were some who made a difference. But mostly numb. Until the night. When the house emptied out. When we laid in our beds. And we cried. I cried into my pillow. I sobbed. My mother died. My mother is dead. I will never see her again. I wasn't there enough. Who am I now. Without her.

The third stage is the reminder of the SHIVA. Literally translated as "seven." Referring to the seven days. This was more of a quiet stage for us. Unimaginable if we had to sit for an actual seven days.

The fourth stage of mourning is called the SHLOSHIM. Literally translated as "thirty". This stage refers to the thirty days from the burial on. Including both the second and third stage. I am now in Shloshim. The laws are not as strict as Shiva but they are still existent. Less joy. Less of everything. This numb feeling still overtaking.

And then she finally leaves. I am finally alone. After two intense weeks filled with people. I am back in my own place. My own bed. All I want to do is feel. So I open the link. And I watch the funeral. I cry out as if it is all fresh and new. It is fresh. I have not had a minute to feel anything. My mother died. My mother is dead. And now I am lost. I lay in my bed and I don't know what to do.

The fifth and supposed final stage is the year of mourning. It will be a long year ahead. Decisions to me made. Life to adjust to. New reality. New existence. Potential. Freedom.

Maybe the stages aren't so bad after all.

I was the Shabbat Imma in Gan. My mom always came. 

A Eulogy

Dear Ma, 

What can I say to the woman who brought me into this world.  You waited for so many years. So much pain and heartache.  You suffered through so much.  But despite all of the suffering, you were still my mother. Our Ma. You were so proud of us three children.  

The person that people saw in the last few years was not the real you. Although, your personality definitely peeked through. Your stubbornness. Your spunk. Your fight. You were a survivor. You taught me what it means to live. To hold on. 

I want to share some memories of the good times. 

Remember the time that we went horseback riding and you sat on the side reading a book waiting for us as a pig tried to eat your chair. 

Remember when you got your hair cutting license in Israel. You were so proud. Little did I know I would spend my childhood with short hair and short bangs as you would practice on my hair. Everyone in the Dorset area came to you for haircuts.

Remember how you were always bickering with Aunt Naomi on the phone and whenever you got together. You always argued about the time you walked through the glass door, you only got a book about animals, and when Aunt Naomi fell out of the car, she got markers. I can’t even count how many times I had to hear that story. 

Remember how you always had to match everything. Your shoes matched your skirt, which matched you shirt and eyeshadow. Your earrings were probably heavier than you.

Remember how you made coca cola chicken. Apricot meat that would melt in your mouth. And the best Bubby Kugel. 

Remember how you bought every Jewish book that came out. Your love for Rabbi Biographies. And millions of Miriam Adahan books. You went to almost every WIT class possible. Your notes were everywhere around the house. You went to shul every Shabbos. Always sitting up front. 

Remember Tai Chi. Remember how you and Bubby would be sitting by the window in Household two waiting for one of us to come. The minute you would see Abba walking towards you, you would stand up and mimic his motions. Putting your arms up above your head and copying all the arm motions he was doing in the parking lot. 

Your love for Abba was beyond anything. 

Remember how proud you were of Chaim. He is your pride and joy. Your obvious favorite. 

Remember when you found out you were pregnant withDevora. Was probably the happiest day of your life. 

Remember how you would talk to your father every day on the phone. 

Remember how you loved Simcha and Shira. How proud you were of the families they crated. 

Remember how grateful you were to Yechiel for the dedication and care for Aunt Naomi. You finally get to be with your sister. And your mother. And Bubby. You are finally pain free.  

Your hand has always been warm. You always smiled when you saw me. I am your first. My voice is the one you always recognize. I am your original. Been there through thick and thin. Ma. Please. I'm sorry. Sorry for this life you've had. Sorry for all the pain. Sorry I haven't always been there. I'm sorry.

Ma. I love you. Mommy. I’ll miss you. Imma. Forever your daughter.

Five Minutes

Have not been able to write in a long time. It has been many challenging months. Seems to be very difficult to get a break. 

Eight surgeries since March and my body is just not responding well anymore. I have just been discharged from the hospital on Tuesday after twelve days and two painful surgeries. 

This is not how I planned on entering another year. I was hoping to move forward. Finish school. Make something of myself. 

And instead, the hospitalizations are getting closer and closer. Constant visits to the emergency room. Spending more time with the neurosurgery residents than my actual friends. One rolling vein after another. My body can't do it anymore. My mind cannot calm down. 

All I want is to heal. To feel alert and alive. Be independent. Make my own choices. Be in control of my own body. To feel comfortable in any position. Be rid of this constant chronic pain. No more painkillers. To sleep. 

No more. I have had enough. It's gotten to a point where I cry for my mother. Who have I become. This slobbering, pathetic person. Can't get my act together. 

I whisper to myself throughout the day. Just get through the next five minutes. 

My mind is constantly running. Mostly at night. When sleep should take over. Instead, the pain and the thoughts take over. Reminding me of how awful life is. Of all the pain. The things I cannot do. 

I lay there for hours at a time dozing in and out of delirium. Imagining the worst. Dreaming and creating holocaust-like stories in my mind. Reliving memories that never happened. With people who are not here. Are not in my life. Or cannot even talk. 

I think of my mother. A lot. And I cry for the parents I wish I had. The home I wish I could go to. A cocoon where I can feel safe. Loved. Taken care of.  

I cry for my future. A future that felt so close. At the tips of my fingers. Slowly slipping away. I cry for my independence. I can't even take a shower on my own. My head is partially shaved. I am not myself. I cry for no reason at all. Being overwhelmed and exhausted should be enough of a reason. 

That's all for now. I need to lay down. 

I can make it through the next five minutes. 

That's all that matters right now. 

Five minutes. 

Polar

Polar opposites

Two sides of a coin

Day and night

Sun and moon

One young and the other old

The young one is quiet. Often introspective. Thoughts flood her mind at all times. She is mostly sad. Stuck in a past life. Forever reliving memories. She is 6 years old. Wants to be held. To be heard. To be listened to. She is artistic. Creative. A loyal friend. Would drop anything to be there for you.  

The old one is loud. A leader. A bitch. Take charge kind of gal. She has a hard shell. Built a fortress around her heart. No one would dare enter. Giving up is not option. She shows up. No matter what. Fights to lead a functional life. No one can think she is weak. She is 80. Propelled into adulthood. Forced to be mature. Make life decisions. She is a fighter. She will leave before you hurt her.

One is mean to the other

Telling her to snap out of it

Not to fall into the trap

Of life

Of love

The other is sad

She is tired

Begging the other to make things ok

To hold her hand

Waiting for a pain free moment

They are polar

But perhaps one day they could meet

Join forces

Unite

And form an alliance

permanently agitated

Am I agitated because my head hurts
Or does my head hurt because I'm agitated
Questions I ask myself
Every single day
Does everything have to feel
Like it's falling apart
Collapsing around me
Curve balls being thrown
Directly at my face
Tripping me as I move
Is the anger real
Or is it chemical imbalance
Am I kidding myself
Not going to therapy
No antidepressants
Faking this positive life
Suffocated by my own thoughts
Unable to handle real emotion
All sadness masked
Expressed as anger
Bubbling at the surface
Internal discomfort
Emotional immobility
Can't a girl catch a break
No pain
For a few minutes
No aggravation
For one day
Support
Attention
Love
Wouldn't that be nice
To feel like you belong
And not constantly abandoned
Over and over again
When will the agitation end
In others
Myself
Tell me. When.

imploding

What happens when you drown

When you're drowning 

Falling 

When you feel nothing 

Total emptiness 

Lack of anything 

No will to live

Given up

Stopped fighting 

Let go

Are letting go

Nothing to hold on to

When you burn your skin 

And feel no pain

Or cut yourself 

And no blood comes out 

When you are bruised all over 

And raw to the core 

When your eyes are bleeding out 

Dream about death 

A funeral 

A different version of hell

Overdosing 

Institutionalized 

Immobilized 

Dunk your head in the toilet 

Drive off the bridge 

Smash into a million smithereens 

Combust 

Explode 

Implode 

What happens when you are numb 

Done 

Gone 

Dead 

Dead to the world 

Dead to yourself 

No will to live 

What happens when you dream

Of nothing 

Emptiness 

Die in your sleep 

The end. 

Dead Calm

Sometimes I wish I was dead. Shhh, don't tell anyone. It makes people uncomfortable. They want to tell you that you shouldn't feel that way. Or that you don't feel that way. They make a joke. Try to lighten the mood. But guess what. This isn't about you. I'm not trying to beat around the bush. I don't need you to tell me to go to my therapist. Or to go on medication. I don't need your answers. Your suggestions. Your opinions. Maybe I need you to listen. To hear me out. Listen to my pain. Maybe I just need to vent. To be. To feel. To share. A shoulder. Did that ever occur to you. Maybe it's ok that I feel this way. Death is not always a bad thing. The worst thing. Maybe it's a relief. A final calm. Eternal peace. Maybe I'm crazy. And no, I'm not suicidal. You don't have to worry. I'm not going to hurt myself. I have no plan. You don't have to jump to conclusions. Relax. I don't need to be watched or even worried about. I'm just telling you that sometimes I wish it was all over. That I was done. Finished. And that's ok. My feelings are valid. You don't have to run from me. Avoid me. Walk on eggshells. I'm going to be ok. I'm strong as always. I put on a good act. Not to worry. You can go on living your meaningless, insensitive life. I'm fine. Thanks for asking.

I live to serve

Sometimes I just wish for the end. For it all to be over. I see no point. No silver lining. Nothing in the cup. I see nothing. But feel everything. And nothing at the same time. Or maybe too much of everything. I just need a break. I need a breather from all of this. A pain-free moment. To be calm. I'm just done. I'm tired. Very tired. I feel old. Very old. It's enough.

I feel alone. Fighting this constant battle. Alone. No matter how much you try now. It's too late. You can't make up the damage. It's done. I'm scarred. Crippled. Destroyed. My heart is forever broken. Shattered. With no chance of recovery. I will never be ok. I will always be haunted. Damaged. I am damaged goods. Ruined.

Every day that I get out of bed is a miracle. I don't want to do this anymore. I daydream of a funeral. Mine. Who will attend. Who will speak. How miserable everyone will be. It's magnificent. I want everyone to feel pain. Anguish. I want everyone to feel a void. To wonder. How they caused me to end everything. How insensitive they lead their lives. Serves them all right. Everyone deserves what they get. I hope you all suffer.

Begging

So this is something that I have gone through and I have never talked about it. Or maybe I have told a few people but no one really understands. I've done some bad stuff so this is probably shocking. And I don't even know where to begin but I feel like I need to get this off my chest. 

People talk about how abuse can lead a child or teenager to do bad things. And I've been asked many times by people and by therapists if I was ever abused when they hear my story. I think there's different types of abuse. It's not only about someone touching you or inappropriately forcing themselves on you. We all know that there's such a thing as emotional abuse and verbal abuse. And there is just plain inappropriate behavior that probably wouldn't get a child taken away but will damage that child for the rest of their lives. I'm not making any sense am I? 

You see I've always felt like I was damaged goods. But I knew too much and saw too many things happen that shouldn't have happened. And now I'm talking in circles. I'm pretty good at screwing things up. So I've learned to keep to myself. Shut myself up in my own world. Where no one can penetrate. Or hurt me. I've created these walls as protection. 

Now there have been a few people who broke through the barriers. Who I eventually let in. Maybe they understood me. Maybe they cared about me. But they all hurt me. Used me. I let them use me. Because I am a fool. Sometimes I feel like I'm living one big lie. That the person everyone sees or think they know is a farce. 

I go to an event and all I see is a loving family. I should feel warm and happy. But instead all I feel is empty. Lacking. It makes me sick that they all love each other. Care about each other. That life just seems so unreachable. So totally unrealistic. I can't look at them. Just reminds me what I don't have. 

I really don't want to be this person. I want a fresh start. A new life. Some opportunity would be nice. I'm sick of the  past holding me back. Of people ruining me. Disappointing me. Leaving. Physically and emotionally. Of having that void. In my heart. In my soul. In my body. 

I'm sick of all this shit. Just once I ask for some peace. A break. But no. You just keep striking. Let it go. We get it. It's enough. Just give us a fucking break. How much can a person handle. No more please. I'm begging. Please. 

F....enough with the yiddish names

How horrible is it that I'm jealous. I only met you once. We hung out at a bar in the city years ago. A lifetime ago. I wasn't such a fan. But then again, how many people do I really like. That doesn't say anything about you. Probably says more about me.

I'm envious of your bravery. The fact that your plan worked. You showed everyone. You no longer have to face your demons. It is the world who has to now look for answers. Pretend to understand what your life was about. Everyone else feels pain now. You are finally pain free. Don't people get that. You are free.

Is it terrible that I am happy for you. Envious of you. Wish I was as brave as you. Wish I could take that final leap. Never look back. People can talk about how you were at the peak of your life. Making a difference. Doing so well. Yada Yada. What do they really know. No one understands. No one knows what's going on deep on the inside. The outside is one big facade. You put a face on so that people can be around you. But maybe you can't be around them.

Maybe you survived just the right amount. Maybe some people aren't meant to live a long full life. Maybe some of us have already lived too long. Does anyone ever consider that. Sometimes, a long life is not in the cards. Not desired. Not something to aspire to. Some of us live day by day. Hour by hour. Minute to minute. Every day that we wake up is a miracle. Is torturous to get up and face the day. Face the world. Because you don't belong. You don't want to be there.

So to you, I say congratulations. On finally graduating. From this life. From this world. From your misery. To everyone else. I will continue to say. You have no idea. No idea what a person is. What they are made up of. Who they really are. Don't try to understand after the fact. It's too late. You can look for answers. Try to place blame. But the blame should be internal.

Life is not for everyone.

explosive

Why are you driving so god damn slow.

Head is going to explode all over your windshield.

Sometimes I wonder why thoughts only come to me while I'm driving. The windows are down and the music is loud and my hair is blowing in the wind. My mind just wanders and I can't stop thinking. Did I mentioned the my head is going to explode. Do you ever drive and think you're just going to crash. Drive over a bridge and land in the water. Do you ever imagine your own funeral. Does that make me crazy. Don't answer that. 

The pain just doesn't end. There is no relief. No sleep allowed. Pain from here til tomorrow. Random daydreams. Or are they night dreams. Because they happen at night. Sitting on a roof. With someone you don't want to be with. In a glass room that should be covered. With wall to wall newspaper clippings. But you are exposed. Doors everywhere. People walking in and out. No privacy. And you are waiting. No one gets you. They still don't get you. You have closed yourself in. Ostracized yourself. And you don't even care. Random people walk by in your dream. And they all wave. Some stare. And you could care less. You know what you are doing is wrong.
Anything to avoid the pain. You are sweating. Your sheets are wet. Your hair is tangled. Because everything hurts. There is no relief. Go to the emergency room. How will that even help. It's all in your head. You are one big crazy. You want it all to end. Pills. Overdose. You could go in many ways. Blood everywhere. It could be epic. But no one would appreciate it. Not as much as you. Only you would feel relief. Or even joy.
Admitted. Committed. Take me. Free me. Release me. Unleash me.
You win.

Pseudo means FAKE

It's too good to be true
You don't see what's under the surface
Don't look at me
And think you see me
All I want is to disappear
Crawl under my covers
The fan blowing
Someone take a knife
And make a nice incision
In my eyes
To let out all the pressure
So I can feel some relief
A pain free moment
Fluid free lifetime
I need a breather
Just one second
To myself
You ask me what's wrong
Half-heartedly
But you're not even listening
Don't even care
Can't understand
It's because I am ultimately alone
I struggle through all this on my own
Always by myself
My own problem
It's all under the radar
Because you can't see this disease
There are no outward symptoms
Pseudo
Therefore it means nothing to you
It's fake
Non-existent
I fight alone
So I appear grumpy
Or depressed
Miserable
Did you ever wonder if maybe I was in constant pain
That my eyes feel like they are flooding
My head might just explode
That basic conversation is so difficult
Friendships are a waste of time
That I am ruining everything
I just need someone to hold me
Take care of me
Call my doctor
Make everything ok
Hold my hair while I throw up
I need someone to drill a nice little hole
Let out the pressure in my back
In a little cord
All the fluid can come pouring out
Did it ever occur to you
That I might need
Me
Need

PS. This is a joke.

ManCave

I hate everything about this day. I hate that there's a set day set aside for you. You make it impossible to move forward. What happened in your life to make you this way. To cause you to act this way. Why do you continue to hurt me. Do you even realize how your actions affect others. Do you know I bought you four cards. One for every one of the rest of the family members. That I do that for every occasion. But I didn't give any of them to you. Because you make me feel like dirt. Like shit. Like I'm worthless. You went out to eat by yourself? What is that. Do you even notice who you have become. Who you have always been. That you are completely alone. That we are all completely alone. That we are all in different zip codes. Are you aware of that. Is that the reason you are miserable. That you treat me like shit. Do you notice. Do you care. Is this what you wanted for your life. For mine. Did you have any goals. Aspirations. Do you realize how you've damaged and hurt me. Us. Do you care. Or are you just tuned out. Is this why I am alone. Afraid to trust. Open up. Let anyone in. Because you've ruined me. You've chipped away at my core. My soul. Day after day. Year after year.

Here's to another Fucking Father's Day. 

i wish...

Well that was disappointing
I shouldn't have waited
Never had expectations
Wish we had never been introduced
You had never reached out
Not the first time
And especially not the second
I wish I had been strong
Made smarter decisions
Followed my brain
And not my heart
Never let you in
I wish I had never exposed myself
Been vulnerable
Made me laugh
Or smile
I wish you didn't know me
Understand me
Leave me
I wish this wasn't so painful
That you weren't gentle
And kind
That you didn't listen
Or critique when necessary
I wish you didn't call me out
Or look at me like that
With those eyes
Like you know me
I wish I had never met you
Touched you
Felt you
That day
I wish for many things
But most of all
I wish I could forget

Cloudy

A cloud that follows you around. Daily. Hourly. Minute after minute. Refuses to abandon its post. It has been assigned to you since birth. Been very loyal. More loyal than most. The cloud follows you wherever you go. Never far behind. A cloud filled with sawdust. Filled with blood. Sometimes you think you've managed to escape. To hide. That you've managed to dodge the cloud. But it always, always finds you. Never gives you a breather. The cloud always finds you. Trails right behind you. If not immediately above you. Sometimes the cloud drifts far away. Sometimes it leaves for a long time. But the cloud always finds it's way back. The cloud will never leave. The cloud is constant. The cloud is reality.

The cloud is my comfort zone. It's my security blanket. I don't know how to live without it. I am naked when it leaves me. I am cold and alone without it. The truth is, I am vulnerable. That is my confession. And that is something most people will never hear me say. I am not that strong person everyone sees. That wall you all see was built to protect myself. From all the pain and heartache. The constant disappointment. Letdowns. The sadness. For the little girl who had no parents. Who had no love. Who now spends her life trying to pick up the pieces. Who spent her life being an extrovert and finally came to terms with reality that she was really an introvert. I am just a little girl. Stuck in a woman's body. Learning how to navigate this life. This world. With this cloud over my head. 

Awake

Burnt out. Life cannot take a pause. No calm allowed. Tired. Fed up. Is there a message I am supposed to be seeing. I literally do not know how I keep moving. What is this miraculous source that keeps me going. What exactly is motivating me.

Dropped in a desert with no water. No food. No shelter.  No clothes. Nothing. Alone. And yet, I am that cactus. Functioning. Surviving. On the bare minimum. How is it possible. How have I not succumbed to my surroundings. How have I not given up yet.

You say that I am special.  That I have potential. All I can answer you is that I feel worthless. Unworthy. A waste of space. My purpose on this earth is to serve. To take care of others. To give. There is no real me. I am a shadow.

And this purpose that I have had my entire life is suddenly gone. Swept out from under my feet. Excused from all responsibility. Without choice. No warning. An empty nest. Barren. Others making decisions. Completely taken out of my hands. Unattached. Silent. Removed. Mute.

You have perverted life. Made decisions without all the facts. Distorted reality. Sheltered. Avoided. Abused your power. Corrupted. Shattered life. Broken a family. Damaged the future. All for what. Instant gratification. A moment of pleasure. Supposed happiness. No long-term goals. No plan for the future. Destruction. Life-long devastation. Enabled. Crippled.

Loss. Unattainable expectation. Alone. Who will pick up the pieces. The glass shatters. Who will be there. No physical contact. Masked emotion. Bleeding tears. Toss and turn. Blinding darkness. Egg dripping down the windshield. Black and blue. Blinking lights. Deafening sound. Uncontrollable.

Time to wake up. Good morning.

Spasms

I'm all alone. Laying here. In a hospital bed. In some exam room. In the neurology department. There's no one here. But me. And I can't stop the tears. I can't handle the pain. Spasms into legs. Sharp stabbing in my hips. A bruised back. Hole in my spine. In between two vertebrae. Laying here. In a skimpy hospital gown. No one around. Not a soul. It's me. Always me. Only me.

I squeeze the pillow. Try not to yell out. Not a single peep. No noise. Body bent. Back arched. Needles. Five times. Numb. Catheter. Cerebral spinal fluid. Pressure. Paralyzed. I'm silent. Until I can't hold it in any longer. The pain overwhelms. The tears explode out of my eyes. I gasp and try to breathe. The world is collapsing around me. Suffocating. Unbearable. 

I lay here. I'm all alone.

Comics

http://www.buzzfeed.com/hnigatu/comics-that-capture-the-frustrations-of-depression

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.