Burials

It is only November 8th and this is already shaping up to be one of the most difficult Novembers I have ever experienced. There does not seem to be much to celebrate.

A few days ago we got a notice that Punksin has a swim meet on my birthday. Mind you, we are told about the meets and then it is up to us to decide whether or not she will participate. Punksin immediately said no, because of my birthday.

I signed her up.

Frankly, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing than watching my daughter swim. It is one of the few pleasures left to me, one of the only things that make me happy.

I will, at some point, have to tell the rest of my family not to call me on that day. Really, its only my aunt and cousin who would be calling so its not as though there will be a backlog of messages. My aunt may find it difficult to understand but I can only pray that she will comply. I do not want to acknowledge my birthday this year.

Yesterday, I started taking the Lexapro again.

I had, as you may recall, weaned myself off, partially…well, partially in hopes of preparing for a baby. But it is now obvious to me that that is NOT going to happen. I will be deprived of perhaps one more person who might love me because I am UNFIT and, as usual, NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

There does not seem to be much I am good enough for these days.

The two things I am focused on now are my children and my writing. Every now and then I may slip into the city, alone, to listen to some jazz, to distract myself, to give myself some of the happiness that my life seems so utterly devoid of.

I must write while I still can. I must leave some body of work for Pudding and Punksin to look back on and understand that Mommy was more than just…Mommy. That she was a woman with thoughts and ideas and dreams, with stories to tell, with disappointments and heartaches and pain. To tell them this now would be unfair; they would be saddled with a knowledge far beyond their understanding.

I was thinking yesterday of my boss, the one who took her life in April. Like me, she knew many people and yet had few real friends, if any. Like me, she had a successful career. And yet, it all meant…nothing. People put such stock in material things and possessions and yet…none of that overcomes or defeats loneliness. I sat with it when Pudding was in the hospital, staring it in the face with tears streaming from my eyes in the stillness of the night, and it has been my constant companion ever since. Before, it walked behind me, dogging my footsteps, taunting me with the echo of its footfalls that grew ever closer. Now, it walks beside me. It no longer hides. It smiles at me with malevolence and reaches out to hold my hand in its icy grip and try as I might, I cannot get out of its grasp. It walks with me everywhere and although now, it goes wherever I go, I feel the day coming when the balance of power will shift. I will no longer be leading; I will just succumb in utter desolation as it leads me into the abyss.

Pray for me.

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