« Insidious Fatigue | Main | My own private alprazolam »

June 12, 2004

Ad Nauseam

Where have I been? Weaning the meds. Pulling back into my head. Walking around in a brain that vibrates so fast that it doesn't move anywhere significant. And the mental train just shoots off the track. Where was I going with this?

I say I hate this house
But I lie.
I say I fear my husband
But I lie.
I say my children bug me
But I lie.
I say my family tortures me
But I lie.
I say I don't belong in this world
But I lie.

The thing I really hate
Is myself.
The person I really fear
Is myself.
The one that really bugs me
Is myself.
The one that really tortures me
Is myself.
The place that I really don't belong
Is with myself.

I'm tired of asking myself why I do what I do. I'm tired of doing what I do, over and over and over again. I run away from myself. I run into myself. I split myself so I can...what? Beat myself? Harass myself? Excuse myself? What? I don't understand it but then I do. I am lazy. I don't want to go through the pain it would take to step up to a better life, a better self. I don't want to sacrifice. I don't want to sweat. I don't want to stretch. I just want to drift on down the stream.

I wish it was just me. I hate having this wretched dance that I do with myself spread its greasy film over my children, my husband. I feel like I'm slowly poisoning the minds and souls of my boys. Little land mines, little erosions, little earthquakes, little destructions every single damn day. I know I don't have the sight to understand how or why the four of us are together in this family. Why we came together. Do we need to be together? I don't know. I don't know. And I want to. I want to believe that my boys will turn into something good despite me.

I am just so tired. When I don't think it's possible to be worn more thin another layer flakes off. When there's nothing left to flake, what will I be? Will I be free of my lies?

Posted by swift at June 12, 2004 10:02 AM

Email This To A Friend

Email this entry to:


Your email address:


Message (optional):