The tide is going out, and receding with it are all of the dreams and hopes I'd held for my future.
Meaning it for the first time, wondering aloud and considering the truth, I stated, "I really don't think I'll ever have children now, all things considered."
And for the first time, my mother agreed that it probably wasn't the best idea.
The plans I'd laid, the career I wanted, the life I'd hoped for...seemingly impossible, now. This has robbed me of so much, and I feel it's only just begun.
The career is almost certainly impossible. The life - well, it included normal things, I suppose - maybe getting married and having children someday. My career choice and how I envisioned that family may not have been the most common of choices, but they were mine, and they meant something to me.
Knowing I won't be able to do what I want to for employment...knowing that having children isn't a good or healthy choice...I begin to wonder about even the possibility of getting married. I'm always going to be like this, to some degree. I can't imagine anyone who would be able to put up with it - even Jacob couldn't.
Reality - a strange concept. It's fluid, subjective, deceitful. My reality differs so much from that of my brother or mother or best friend that they're close to being irreconcilable.
Under the music, there were voices. I turned the radio off, feeling like my head was going to burst. Would have pulled over and cried, but I knew it wouldn't do any good. My vision jumps and blurs and confuses me - was that a leaf, an animal, a hallucination?
And at night, paranoia sets in. The normal settling noises of the house convince me there's someone else here with me. Two nights ago I told Jacob I was firmly convinced that either there was someone else in the house, or the house was haunted. I meant it at the time...now, it seems beyond ridiculous.
I can't tell if it's the medications making things worse, or if they're just getting worse on their own. I don't want to be honest with my doctor, I hate admitting to these things to either anyone who knows me, or whom I have to look in the eyes.
Dreams...beyond strange. They'd be nightmares, but they've stopped scaring me. I'm numb to them at this point, I think.
Fold my soul up and carry it away - as far away as you can go - then release it over the ocean and let me go. That's all I really want...this is beyond what I have the energy to deal with.
2 comments:
It makes you feel like a cold, clinical melting pot of chemical reactions doesn't it? To have to study your emotions in this way. To determine how normal or dysfunctional they are. To have to feed into the analysis of the self. As if we could ever hope to measure our feelings against other people's feelings to decide what is acceptable and what isn't. I hate that I even worry about this to such a degree that I do. Why it should even matter but deep down it does, and I've never ever been to the doctors about it because I don't trust them I suppose. How do I know that what I'm feeling is being relayed to them in the right way? Or they interpret what I'm telling them exactly as it's intended? So much room for things to get lost in the translation. Just itty bitty gritty details really, but still they matter.
As for your dreams, and aspirations I don't think you should put them to bed and decide that it wouldn't work out anyway. Sometimes these things can show us what we're capable of, things we need to work on within ourselves, can even make us feel alive. When there's less of a focus on the self it can show us that we really are a lot more possible than we first thought.
There's got to be something somewhere, it can't possibly be all rack and all ruin.
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