the day after

I was irresponsible yesterday, fueled by a despondency that I could not name.

I shouldn't allude to suicidal thoughts, even if I do have them. I will admit to a morbid fascination with the IDEA of ending it all, the ultimate control of that act, and I identify (often too much) with the weariness that accompanies one's need to exit, whether it's weariness brought on by chronic pain/illness (check) or consistent mental tumult (check) or loss...I "get" the urge. But it's not right of me to throw out things like gun buying when it's all in the moment and grounded in pain that will pass in and through me and out, like it does for so many of us, thank goodness. I do not live in a place of wanting to die. Rather, I live in a place that is sometimes so excruciatingly uncomfortable that I will do almost anything to change the feelings...and that, I think, is at the crux of so many of my struggles. Intolerance of pain, burdened as I've been with years and years of it, and the fear that I will never be free of that burden.

Last night, I went home and talked with S. I told her that the voices in my head were relentless...she asked me if they were my voice. I said no, I didn't think so. I recalled standing at the water cooler at work, tail end of the day, filling my water bottle...in my head was You Are So Gross and You are so fat you don't deserve to eat...things of that nature, said in a gravelly, loud, mean voice. It reminded me of Oscar the Grouch on acid. I shook my head, as if I could get the voice out of there, let it roll from my ear and onto the floor. I'd been crying for hours at that point, and was feeling, well, pretty crazy. When I got home, I kept opening the fridge and peering in, searching for something...I was so hungry, having eaten a banana, some tofu, and a spoonful of black bean salad all day...but still, I stood there paralyzed, saying out loud, finally, "I don't feel like I can eat anything at ALL." The voices had won.

I have a line in one of my poems "relentless slipped in unnoticed." That line keeps coming up for me. The relentlessness of my struggles threaten to drown out the good things I have, and there are many good things. I am often taken aback by the ferociousness of my inner critic and its ability to take me down a dark hole. Enjoying week, even month-long reprieves, I forget that voice until something triggers it again: yesterday, I think it was my mother. I don't know.

Last night, as she was tucking me in, S. said "let's get up in the morning and walk Daisy together." I thought it was a grand idea, though at the time I was so exhausted that I wondered if I would be able to drag my body out of bed at 7 a.m. I am happy to report that I DID get out of bed, and so did Sandy, and we enjoyed a lovely morning stroll with Miss Pickles. It was already getting hot when we left the house around 7:30. When we got home, we congratulated ourselves for getting our asses in gear and I think S. was especially proud, as she's pretty much a zombie in the morning, yet even with crazy bed head and no coffee, she stumbled out into the day and we walked. Together. Bless her for loving me as I am, and for meeting me in places that are not pretty. Eventually, the darkness ascends, and LO!, there is light, and her smile.