My quest to help those I love is beset on all sides by hurdles, obstacles and challenges determined to block my every path. The foremost of these is my health: surgery in January has not eradicated the daily pain which burns within my lOwer abdomen. It hurts beyond measure. I do my best to continue with daily life, and to keep my social media profiles alive with false cheer to fool prospective employers yet I spend hours having to hide away, curled up in agony, forced indoors. This is not living.
It’s done; the past is over and the future awaits. I may not be excited about this fact, yet I am not without focus for the years ahead. Recent events have steered my course and I am already adrift: a boat riding the unstoppable tide.
Once upon a time, I would have fought to jump overboard, committing my soul to its watery grave: plummeting peacefully through the cleansing depths towards a resting bed cocooned in ever-blackening night.
Yes, I belong to Death but Life has called me into service and I am obliged to fulfil my duty. I expect this will prove to be harrowing at times but I am ready. I am caught in the midst of war and I am required to fight for the benefit of the few treasured people whom I hold dear.
I can feel God’s hand upon me, squeezing reassuringly as I squirm. His hand squeezes tightly, to prevent my Death and to protect my fragile soul for however long it shall take to complete my service. My time has come to stand brave and fight to the finish. What a strange state of affairs, to be so ready to die yet fighting so fervently to live.
I am sorry to say that there are things in life that are far worse than longing to die and being worthless. Just when I think my time is done, my purpose is non-existent and I need to die as soon as possible, God plunges me into yet another emergency, highlighting the ways in which others need my help. It’s a sign. I didn’t want it, and would rather turn a blind eye, but it’s too late for that. I am involved. I am a participant. I am affected. Most of all, I am panicked and very, very scared.
This has been such a sad day. A truly sour and awful day. Those of us affected are all spending this evening feeling scared, shocked and broken hearted. I cannot express how much I wish that today’s events could be rewritten into a happier narrative. Please God, use your power to change what has come to pass. I finally get it; no more praying to die. I will stay where I am needed and do my best for all time if you, please, please, fix everything. I am begging you to erase today’s nightmare and rewrite the future with a happy ending. Please stop the crisis; please help in any and every way that you can.
I will tear down Heaven and Earth to help as well. I will do whatever is required of me – anything. I will not stop until I have done everything within my power to change the outcome of this gut-wrenchingly horrible situation. I promise.
They shall say I was ill; I am certain of it. They shall use that sweeping statement to dismiss my suffering and explain my premature death. They shall say I was unstable and depressed. They shall say I wasn’t in control of my own mind. They shall make many excuses, placing the blame at my [coffin] door.
Screw them, the infuriating halfwits.
I chase Death not from mental illness, depression, nor insanity. It is because I was made to suffer. I was forced to endure humiliation after humiliation for the cruel amusement of someone I once loved and trusted. I was kicked to the edge by their cold, heavy boot… and I long to throw myself off because there is simply no place left to go.
It’s hard to believe that as little as ten years ago, I still expected to one day get married and have up to three kids. I thought I would fulfil this life goal in my thirties, before I became “too old” to bear children. I am 39 years old now, alone and barren. I would question where it all went wrong but I already know the answer: it’s all my fault. I was never worthy of love, a husband, nor motherhood. I wasted my best years on a man who secretly plotted to humiliate and betray me in the name of “fun”. He even destroyed my career. How could I have been so stupid?
I have lost everything. There is nothing left. I don’t even have a ‘family’ in my parents and sibling. I feel detached from these people: a woman standing on the outside, witnessing a private gathering and exchange of love in which she can never intrude. I don’t belong there, with them, pretending to fit in. They are a family. I’m just their burden.
I wish I had never been born. I don’t feel that I have a place in this lifetime. I can’t see why I was placed here nor where I am heading. I have no goals, no dreams, no skills, no worth, no hunger. I cannot bear to face the future because there is no version of it in which I can ever belong.
I’ve had less than three hours of sleep and I am still stressed about yesterday’s events. I don’t know how I will get through today’s job interview. My chest feels constricted and my empty stomach is behaving as if it is has contents to spill. I am starting to wonder if I cannot cope with responsibility. Could that be my problem?
I have been doing my breathing exercises – in and out, slowly and deeply. I have blogged, tried to focus on positive thoughts, searched for distractions on social media, posted a status update to reach out to people but… I am still freaked out and feeling stressed. Thankfully, the panic and tightening in my chest is now coming in waves, instead of a constant sensation. That’s something, at least.
Logic dictates that I cold not have harmed the baby earlier. Yet, my anxiety remains. A short while ago, I jumped out of bed, convinced that I had left a candle burning downstairs and that my parents and I were going to perish in a fiery inferno. I opened my bedroom door to find my mother on the landing, exiting the bathroom. I stayed calm and asked if anyone had extinguished the candle before retiring for the evening. I was informed that my father had done so.
Now, I am back to worrying about the baby. Why? Why? Why? I need to switch off. How? I am somehow incapable. I don’t understand what is happening any more. I am supposed to be dead. That is what I believe. I am not supposed to interact with the living and the worthy and, therefore, I am not supposed to be around babies nor any other symbol of happiness and joy. Such gifts are not intended for people like myself. We are of a different existence – the kind ranking as less. Maybe that’s it: new life should not be blighted by contact with the souless.
Could that be why my chest systematically coils and unwinds at random intervals? I cannot be sure. I am so tired. I want to sleep and no longer think. I have a job interview in a few short hours. I am unprepared and exhausted, my stomach tied in knots and fear gripping my chest. Why? Why? Why? The baby was fine today – happy, content and adorable. What harm could I cause to someone so precious; to someone whom I love? What harm could I inflict just by showing love? I feel sick, because I am still scared.