I slept away another day due to medication timing mixups. The hub and the sub ran my business today, as I couldn’t wake up.
I woke up drenched in guilt. The kiddo was alternating between knocking on the door and calling my cell from the house phone. I panicked each time, unable to squeeze even a sound from my throat.
In checking my messages I discover I have 8 texts from “ex-sub-2”. I can’t even bring myself to respond, and fear of how to respond made me want to literally hide in a closet.
A bathroom break, one more ignored phone call, and no closet vacations later, here I am. Sitting in my bed, afraid, in the dark. Trying to smoke a bowl through my tears (hub and sub’s orders), waiting for them to get home. Waiting for a chance to eat.
I miss my Dad. Yesterday was both my kiddo’s birthday and the anniversary of the last time I saw my Dad alive. I always have to hold it together for the birthday, but afterwards, it all comes pouring out. Thinking of all the things I would have said had I known it would be the last time. Thinking about what a waste of my own life I am making, stuck in this bed, watching my talents and relationships and opportunities atrophy, wither, and die.
I was supposed to be more than this. I was born to be more than this, to do something with these talents and passions and gives. Instead, I’m a walking (well, more often bedridden) caricature of depression, watching the life I could have sail by as I grasp feebly for it.
I’ve given birth, I’ve had kidney stones, I’ve been literally beaten bloody with whips and paddles, I’ve experienced physical pain that most would never dream of… And yet none of that compares to the pain of being trapped in your own mind like a prison.