As I sit here with a razor blade and a half a bottle of tequila…tears flowing that I can’t stop and an ache so deep it feels like will never go away…I’ve come to one very clear realization that I can’t do it all. I can’t be functional, stable, and successful AND wade through the shit from the past. I can’t go back there to fix what’s broken now. I can’t do it all. It’s too much and it is far more than I have the capacity to bear. And my inability to do it all leaves me feeling like a failure.
If dealing with the past is beyond my capacity, I can’t fix what’s broken in the present…and that is one big failure. If you can’t fix what’s broken, what hope is there for the future? Doesn’t seem like there’s much of a future to look forward to. All I can see is pain, dysfunction, shallow relationships, and emptiness.
I look backwards and I see a life of pain, sorrow, trauma and failure. I look forward and see nothing but struggles, emptiness and more failure. There’s nothing left to hold onto…it’s the first time in a very long time I haven’t been able to find a shred of goodness. And honest to god, I’m trying. I’m trying to push past this emptiness and despair. I’m trying, but I also feel like I am the definition of failing, disappointing, not being good enough. And so I don’t really have a lot of high expectations that things will turn around.
I sit here and my heart is broken in a million pieces and I don’t know how to change it. I don’t know how to change me. It’s like this same fucking merry-go-round that I can’t get off of. I’m supposed to be this strong, successful, independent woman who can take the bull by the horns, do great things, overcome great odds…and yet here I am, the exact same person I was my last semester of college…just after my divorce…the same broken, weak, incapable person who can’t get her shit together. And nothing will ever change. It might change for a minute, but it’ll never be a lasting change.
My kids don’t deserve that. They don’t deserve growing up with a mom who is fine, and then isn’t and then is, and then spends weeks unable to get out of bed or care for their needs, who floats in and out of the psych ward. Who damages them the way I was damaged because I can’t meet their emotional needs. My hubs doesn’t deserve this. Being married to someone who can’t contribute, who is emotionally distant, who is often short and says mean things. What kind of life is that for them? Not much of one.
I don’t know what to do. The scariest part is that the part of me that fights back, that tries to quiet the fears, the depression, the worthlessness…that part is getting smaller and smaller to the point it’s barely a whisper.