On my drive home from work, I passed a little boy, kneeling in a mud puddle, tying the shoelaces of a little girl. She was balanced on one leg, her muddy shoe resting on his knee. He was looking up at her, adoringly, as he tied it. For some reason the scene hit me just right & I began to weep in my car. As much as I wish to wholly detach, I have not found a way to do it yet. I am always reminded of my painful, suckered attachment to the world, every time I see some small redemptive corner of it that breaks my heart so cleanly & completely.
God, I’m fucking overserved on loneliness.
I went to get blood drawn to test my lithium levels. The phlebotomist asked me where the results were getting sent. “Bonnie sent the order.” She looked at me, eyebrow quirked. “She not here anymore?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “No. She gone,” she smirked. “Oh…then I don’t know.” At my last appointment a few months ago, Bonnie, my meds dr, had told me that she was planning to retire. I was disappointed, as I liked Bonnie & more importantly, trusted her. Trust is a rare bird for me, so I wasn’t really thrilled about having to make a change, but, eh. She told me that she planned to be at my appointment this month to discuss what doctor to refer me to, since she knew I wouldn’t like the dr most of her caseload was being transferred to. Apparently she left earlier than expected…Welp, so much for that.
I know I should find a new dr, stay on the chemicals…but I find myself telling myself that the thought of walking another clinician through the boneyard is too much…I don’t like walking through there by myself, let alone holding the hand of someone who doesn’t inherently understand the terrifying form the monsters took before they became harmless fossils. I told myself the same thing when I decided to quit therapy a couple months ago. I know in reality, I am unmooring myself from my life. That’s because what I really want is to wake up like it’s the series finale of some shitty tv show to find out that everything that hurt me was just a dream sequence of unfortunate events created by desperate, bitter writers in a last ditch effort to boost disappointing ratings…to roll over upon waking, see the face of someone who loves me & tell them, sleepily, that I had the weirdest dream. Instead, I wake up alone on a couch in a house where my presence is not wanted & all the bad things that happened still live inside of me. And so, in contrast to my hope of holding on long enough that I might wake up from a bad dream is the alternative hope that I also secretly nurse, which is: just not to wake up at all.
And, as with any suicidal person, it is not actually about leaving this world–it’s about besting your pain in whatever method that takes. For some people, this means destroying the host.
I don’t want to leave my kids. I don’t want to leave my kids. I don’t want to leave my kids. I don’t want to leave my kids. I don’t want to leave my kids. God, are you there? Hear this prayer. It’s the only one I know anymore, the only one that has any meaning left in its threadbare words. Please.
I have to believe You haven’t given up yet…otherwise, why would You allow the sight of two children playing in the mud to reach me in ways that remind me I still know how to cry when the world shows me something beautiful, something good?