I’m stuck. Really stuck. I have never been this stuck before. I’m broken , I finally broke in a million little pieces and I don’t know even where to begin to put things back together again. I work twelve-hour days so I don’t have to go home. I don’t like it there. I don’t want to face anything that will make me feel. I have detached I feel numb.
I need help, I am depressed. Deeply depressed. I realized that I didn’t have the support I needed growing up. I don’t want to go back and deal with the years of whatever I have stuffed for so long. I can’t even cry anymore.
I think I feel myself trying to break through. Enough is enough. I am screaming inside, but I won’t let that person through. She could get hurt, or be vulnerable and then I will have to pick up the pieces like I am now. I was always taught to remain stellar no matter what. Don’t appear weak. If you appear strong no one will bother. You will push everyone away and no one will come close enough to hurt you. I am so used to feeling this way, that if I try to shake this habit, and try something new I will get scared because my walls are coming down. I can’t have that.
Here’s the question I ask myself:
Do I stay stuck like I have been for so long and just settle? Or do I face the years of misery and destruction I created, own it, and move on? What a stupid question. I have to just snap out of it. Figure it out. Make a decision and don’t look back. Am I an ordinary person or extraordinary? This is pathetic!!!
write 10 ways to do….to do what? to be a self loathing whoa!! victim? no way I’m responsible for this, no one else. Figure it out. Focus!! Stop feeling sorry for yourself. 10 ways to??? or 10 ways not to??? how many words am I supposed to write? 100 or 1000? How many do I have now? Write about something, anything with purpose or meaning. Dig down deep think– ok here goes:
I was riding home on the subway last week. At one of the stops a mother who was visibly crying got on and as the door was closing a little boy jumped through the doors as they were closing. He could have not been older than seven. As soon as I saw her I felt a knot in my throat. I remember being sad like that, and so young with two babies. I felt sad because the little boy was scared like my kids were scared when I cried like the young mother on the subway. I could see it in his face. The little boys eyes pierced right through me and I was staring back at my babies. I wanted to tell them how sorry I was, at that moment and promise I would never let them see me cry like that again.
I wanted to talk to the young women and tell her I know how she was feeling. I wanted to tell her I would listen to her problems and not judge her. I wanted to tell her that it didn’t seem like it now, but she would be ok. Most of all I wanted to tell her no matter how sad she feels, please don’t take it out on her little boy.
She never once turned around to see if her son was ok, or even if he was still behind her. She just knew. They only stayed on the subway for a few stops. But each stop the little boy was ready to bolt off the subway if his mom got off. I wondered if he was afraid that she would leave him.
If you were on the subway and saw her crying would you have said everything will be ok? I wish I did.
I wish I could figure it out.