I’m floating. Sometimes, I feel myself slipping below the surface, and I don’t want to come back up. I feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into the blackness.

I hear my own words of hope and compassion that I tell the others who walk the same path I walk along. My words are convincing even if but for a moment, it brings them comfort. But I don’t feel those same words in my own heart. They aren’t meant for me.

I’m told by a few that I am light in the darkness to others, yet I don’t feel that light anymore. I still try to make it shine for them in my own blindness. But I can’t see it. I want to see it, but I don’t.

I swim back up, and as my head breaks the surface and my lungs fill with air, the stangnancy of it nearly chokes me.

My sweet, dumb crazy lunatic of a dog looks at me with the innocence of naivity; he has forgotten the cruelty of what was done to him as a puppy before he found a safe haven with me and he is happy. His gaze brings me back into focus. His eyes sometimes plead with me: to keep taking care of him; to keep loving him. So I stay a little longer for him.

When I do leave this world, I think my parting will be felt for just a short while. The world won’t stop turning. My existence doesn’t make a difference to most while I am here, so it won’t make a difference when I’m gone.

Fuck this world. Whatever the lesson I came here to learn must have had a lot of karma attached to it. I just don’t know if I can finish it. And that is the hideous truth.

It isn’t all bad. I mean, I had the four most beautiful children. And that was the best thing ever. But I must have screwed something up because one was taken away: he left this world before me and I just don’t know how to be me anymore with him gone. Maybe who I was and who I am was the problem all along.

I had a long talk with the Padre yesterday. I needed that because I have no one to talk to. I’m the listener, and when I do try to share my own thoughts, it quickly turns into listening to someone elses story. I never get to talk about mine. But I got to talk yesterday. He told me that I am in survivor mode. I had gone to him to ask for a weeks worth of compassionate leave so that I can fly home to help my father. He is nearing the end of his journey and he needs some help while he is still here. I want to see my mom too, even though she has no idea who I even am anymore. That guts me. But soon they will both be gone. And I’m having a hard time dealing with that.

I asked the Padre if all the stress that I am going through is just normal and if everyone’s lives are just as manic as mine and that we all just hide it well. He said many would have buckled under the pressure im facing and it is testament to my own strength that I just keep going. Anyway, instead of the 5 days worth of compassionate leave I asked for I was granted 14. I guess they think I am ready to implode. Or explode. I’m tired. And at any rate, I’d be ok with either now.

My spouse is downstairs getting shit- faced again. He is an alcoholic and as much as I have tried to help him, he doesn’t want it. I’m too tired to care anymore.

I’ll keep floating and keep trying to chase the darkest thoughts away for now. But I don’t know for how much longer. I don’t know how long before they will completely consume me.

Published by iamtherealjude

I am a mother of four beautiful grown children. My son Sam: My youngest boy, lost his fight with his demons on Aug 19, 2021. This blog is a dedication to my sweet young man who I will forever look for in the beauty of this world until my last breath.

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