When the anxiety is so palpable, you can hear nothing but your own heartbeat inside of your ears.
Your chest feels like it’ll very likely explode with the next way too strong beat.
You don’t want to drink more. You know that won’t help!
But it does……..until it doesn’t. Until you take it too far.
Which you most certainly always do.
When your husbands anxiety is just as palpable as yours is, and that increases yours by tenfold.
Because of the way you are, you feel everyone’s emotions as if they were your own.
As if your own anxiety wasn’t bad enough, now you have his too.
But we won’t talk to each other. That would just be too much.
My anxieties have little to do with him…but we do share a few major stressors. One of them being money. Or, the significant lack thereof. Always my husbands biggest, most life threatening (to him) struggle. The one that seems the most urgent, (aside from our kids health…which he simply refuses to acknowledge).
We share that one. But we won’t talk about it.
Of course, I have my own silent struggles that I won’t dare bring up.
Except, all I want to do is talk to someone. Have that support. Feel better.
Feel less alone.
No one can solve my problems.
My shit runs deeper than most can understand.
3 kids with health so fucked up that now 2/3 of them are raising some MAJOR red flags.
An out of nowhere, apparently very complicated relationship with my birth sons parents in which I have no context or understanding of why it’s suddenly fucked up?
What, because he wants me? Because he’s requested over and over again over the past year to meet me? And you’re afraid?
I’m nothing. I’m no one! I am not, and never have been, a threat to you. I’ll lay down and be a doormat for you to wipe your feet on before I make waves in your life. And you damn well know that.
But no, let this be the year you don’t answer my “what can I get him for Christmas this year?” text.
Don’t worry, I won’t let it spiral me. (Yeah, I can tell lies too).
So many things, so many that I don’t even know how to explain. Or articulate. Because does it even matter? Do you even care?
My life has been loss and grief and pain and trauma and abuse from the start. It’s only escalating. It only hurts more, gets more intense…gets more lonely.
I’ve lost so much already.
Maybe I’m done. Maybe I’m done feeling hurt. Feeling loss.
Maybe I can be the one to leave. Don’t I ever get to escape the pain?
Instead of being the one everyone leaves…maybe I get to be the one.
No, my kids don’t get to die.
No, my birth sons adoptive parents don’t get to all of a sudden, after a fantastic relationship the past 9 years, blow me off.
Fuck all of it.
No, I won’t spiral. I won’t feel.
I’ll simply just leave.
Maybe I just have to protect myself. Protect my own heart.
No one can break my heart if I don’t leave it open and exposed.