I think that I am slowly going insane – or something like it – day by day.
I say this because things have gotten fuzzy around the once sharp edges of life for me; details of each day that would’ve once mattered are unimportant and irrelevant to my moments now;
and that is what I live inside of these days, are moments.
Just moments at a time because that’s about all the sanity I have left to deal with my reality as it stands…which is an exceptionally unpleasant place.
If I allow myself to be the Me that I have always been – well, more like used to be – I will default to a bigger picture…planning ahead…the maintenance of control over my life’s general course whenever possible…reliability…stability…motivations and goals, etc. The evolved Me is unable to look beyond the next few minutes in life past the immediate and present tense; the evolved me lives paralyzed inside of a bubble that will inevitably burst. My life has gotten this way because my heart has opted to crawl out of my body and go its own way, one unknown to me. I still hear its beat, feel its pumping pulse in my veins; but my heart has left my body and vanished into the night.
The evolved me has adapted to be able to swallow the tragedies that I have lived – am still living – through.
The evolved Me is stuck on stupid, like somebody pushed pause or something and life just hasn’t continued to play right ever since.
AUTO-PILOT FUNCTION (AKA GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS):
My laundry somehow gets removed from the dryer and folded/hung up/put away during these Pilot Performances of mine; I spend a disturbing amount of time in frustrated conniptions over “missing” tops and sweaters that my Auto Pilot has already put up, completely forgetting(?) that I had spent 35 minutes of the afternoon putting my clothes away…
The constant need for physically exhausting motion and extreme mental/psychological stimulation i.e. terrifyingly scary movies or swimming in the ocean during January (wtf?)
The detachment from all good and positive sources.
The chronic and debilitating malfunction of my ability to give a shit about much of anything besides what the fuck went so wrong with my daughter to cause her to CHOOSE such tragedy time and again…
The obsession with my failures and the rejection of my worth.
All in all, I guess I’m just very tired of being so afraid of my ringtone…
of waiting for the other shoe to drop on my head…
I just want my daughter safe; so badly do I want her to be okay that I’d give up either or both of my eyeballs to heal her and give her the security she needs, even if it’s not with me. I ‘d turn over every ounce of my own self-worth or self-esteem to her, gladly. It’s so hard for me to understand…it’s so hard to accept.