Sin and All

Should we really feel bad that we haven't spoken to you.

You go on and live your life. Sin and all. 

I've managed to forget a lot. Put most things out of my mind. Move forward. But sometimes you manage to show up in my dreams. And I find that unfair. Why do I give you space in my head. Why is there still a place for you in my mind. 

Why are you living this life that I want. That I deserve. Why does god reward bad people. What about all those people you hurt in the process. What about the lives you stepped on and destroyed. Left to rot in the mud. How do you live with yourself. Look in the mirror. Face yourself each day. Do you still hate yourself. 

Ok. You don't control me anymore.

Back to letting go. 

cold

my brain hurts
the whole front of my face hurts
i cant keep food down
im doing fine
i wish i was dead
out of my misery
nicholas sparks separated from his wife
seriously?
when you say you are going to drop off soup
and someone else does
it hurts
lying on the couch
in the freezing cold
alone
i cant do this anymore
why are people so stupid
just shoot me
i cant function
i wish to be
pain free

Publish

Every day I know I should write. I know I should clear my mind. Unburden my soul. And yet I'm blocked. Distracted. Unmotivated. Uninspired. Thoughts come to me in the shower. While driving. While painting. While laying in bed. But I can never bring myself to write them down. To clarify. To unleash. To let my mind unwind. It's as if I consciously choose to keep them internal. For fear of facing the truth. As if reality would stare at me back from the page. Grab my throat. Choke me. Suffocate me. Force me to face things. No avoidance allowed.

And yet life continues. Challenging me at every step. Blocking my every move. Never dull. No break. Even when I've received this forced break. Total removal of all outside responsibilities. Empty nest. Sudden quiet and silent life. Outsiders stepping in. Making decisions without all the facts. Orthodoxy at its best. 

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.

Never Dull

After Shabbos

Driving alone 

Road trip 

Music blaring 

Pop pop

Loud noise 

NJ TNPK

Highway shoulder 

Flat tire 

No answer 

Mile marker

Reading book 

AAA

Spare tire

50 mph

Exit 3

Motel search 

Indians 

Shady 

Rundown 

Econo Lodge

Room 101

Bolted door

No toothpaste 

Broken vending machine 

Eventual sleep

3:45 wake up 

Cursing

Fight 

Loud 

Shouting 

Police

Domestic violence 

8 am checkout 

Orange juice 

Banana 

Forgotten ring 

Pep Boys

New tire 

On the road again 

Monsey 

Friends 

Wedding 

Bride 

Dancing

Sleep 

Couch 

6:45 am

On the road again

4 hours 

Sleepy 

Work 

Sleep

Work 

Hopkins 

Sleep study 

Ignorance is Beautiful

It seems that I will always be dependable. Reliable. I will always live to serve. My role as an individual is almost unnecessary. The me that hides beneath is mute. Silent. I go through the motions. And sometimes I actually do care. But it's mostly a facade. A distraction. From the truth. From reality. From myself. Your lives and dramas are so much easier to deal with. No emotion required. No self-reflection or motivation needed. Inspiration flown out the window ages ago. Ignorance is a welcomed drug. A wonderful pill to swallow. Unlike the horse-pill that lies around the corner. Waiting to close up my throat. Suffocate my lungs. Empty any stomach-juices left in my body. Leaning over a toilet or any available garbage can.

Ignorance is a beautiful thing. It prevents from mourning a loved one. Erases the pain of seeing the dead. Watching as dirt is dug and one plain box is lowered into the earth. Numb as a life is forever gone. The end. Unconditional love has slipped through your finger tips. Never to exist again. Any possible heartache gone. Holding a mother who cannot stop crying and does not know why. I am not a daughter. I am a mother. A caretaker. A mother to no one. I am not a wife. But somehow I got sucked into that role. Because I live to serve. I sacrificed myself. I was afraid to soar. To fly. I could not let go. I could not feel. I pushed it all under the carpet. I lost me. I have disappeared. And for what. What do I have to show for any of it. Nothing. Nothing.