The last few weeks have been tough. I thought I had the flu, tired and aching all over. The doctor said I was exhausted. No kidding. I didn't need a co-pay to find that out. So he gave me some medicine. Pills to help me feel awake, pills to help me sleep better. Uppers... Downers... I am Elvis.
I'm not getting better. I really hoped the bloodwork would say that my iron was low again... give me some tangible reason for feeling like I am in a free fall all of the time. But, apparently my bloodwork is normal. My blood is normal. So what does that mean? "You know what this means, don't you?" The source is external. Stress, putting too much pressure on yourself... Basically, it must mean that I can't hang. But, the problem is... nobody understands how desperately I need to be able to handle it all. To DO it all. And be good at it. Be great at it. The only people who probably get it are my dad or my brother. It's what we do. We push too hard, we work too hard... when it hurts, you put your head down and push through it. And the muscles grow, the tolerance builds. That's just what you do. Because we NEED to. Because people leave. Because there is no worse feeling in the whole world than being a disappointment. Because, when we go to sleep at night we have to be satisfied with what we've done... or we don't go to sleep at night. It wasn't always that way... but people adapt to hurt in funny ways. Sometimes the bones don't grow straight again. We just NEED that acceptance. It's a sickness.
I've spent the better part of my life lost. I've been looking for that safe place since I was a little girl. I just want to get back to that night. The night before. It's never been the same. I keep searching, calling... 'follow my voice'... leave a trail of breadcrumbs just in case. But people leave. Everything changes. The rug gets pulled out from under you. You go out into the woods and when you follow your breadcrumbs back, you find an empty house. You roll over at night after an argument and when you wake up in the morning the bags are packed. I don't know anything about people who stay. I don't know anything about people who love you when you make mistakes. I don't know anything about people who love you enough to let you fall apart completely and then stick around to help you put yourself back together. I don't know how this works. I can't let you see me falling apart. I have to be ok. I have to manage it all. I have to show you that you didn't get a crappy deal. I have to show you that I am enough. I need to know that I am enough, even when I mess everything up, even when I can't spell therapeutic, even when I cry for no reason, even when I am stressed and overloaded and moody and quiet and talkative and overeat and... I need forgiveness all of the time, and I need more allowances for my flaws than I probably have the right to ask for. But... doing it all is how I love. Managing it all, and doing it well, and making you feel good and safe and happy is what feeds my soul. I have to learn how to trust this. When I wake up and you are still there... when I follow my bread crumbs and find you right where I left you... When I fall apart and you don't scold me or turn away... it gives me the strength I need to manage it all, to handle it all. And it gives me the trust I need to say... that I need help. Sometimes, I need help. And I don't know how to ask for it. I don't know how to accept it. But... But... ....I can't do it all. I'm a little lost right now.
-- "If you could choose any thing in the world... What would you choose to be?"
--"Found"
--August Rush, 2007
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