Apr. 26th, 2017

quirkytizzy: (Default)
4:30 AM. As Jesse's friends are also night owls, sometimes he's out late to visit them. I do not begrudge him this. I just find myself sometimes unable to sleep at night, unable to really fall asleep, until he is home. A safety measure, a comfort blanket, just his mere presence in the home. It makes sense, given the number of medical calamities suffered while he was either asleep or not home, but still, it is annoying for me and I imagine for him, as well.

And as I wake up invariably, ridiculously early, well...here we are.

Argh, this is the part that is SO FRUSTRATING. The daily writing goes on, no matter what has happened the day before. The sun always rises, no matter what has transpired in the night. The body needs fed, the catboxes need scooped, the trees bloom and wither, and life just fucking GOES ON no matter what.

In my teens, experiencing what would turn out to be a long line of traumatic events, I found this terribly unfair. As if the world should stop to acknowledge just how painful what I was going through was.

In my 20's and early 30's, I found solace in the continued spinning of the world, knowing that nothing, no pain would ever be so great as to end it all.

Now, with the age of 36 biting at my heels, I again find myself resentful of the concept. And so this will go on, every morning, so and on so on, until my body stops altogether, and even then, the world will keep spinning.

Hopefully by that time, I'll be too dead to care.

(That's not a suicidal thought. I just don't believe in an afterlife, therefore I'm hoping I won't exist in any form after death long enough to experience any emotion at all.)
quirkytizzy: (Default)
Writing this out to Pat made me brave enough to put it here.

I want to beg someone to save me. To save me from myself.

I've never wanted to say that before. I've never felt as if I wasn't strong enough to save myself.

I sometimes feel so weak and so ashamed. So much more than for anything I've ever done to anyone else. Selfish, huh? That I would feel the most ashamed at not how I've hurt others, but that I am unsure if I can continue.

No one else but me can save me. If there's one thing a lifetime of trauma has taught me, it is that. I know this.

But sometimes I just want to scream that someone else do it for me, because I'm tired of saving myself.

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