Confused? Don't worry, I often am too.
I don't post here often. Mostly just when I need to get something off my chest that I don't want to put my name on. Some of you know me, some of you don't. I like it that way. Feel free to read back through my posts to get a better idea of what goes on here and what exactly I'm talking about. If you'd rather not search, you can read these posts and they will help things make sense:

http://nowthatyoureonfire.com/node/19
http://nowthatyoureonfire.com/node/41

Feel free to leave comments if you want. But please, don't assume things about me. Don't assume that what is here is all of it and that you're getting a clear picture. Comments are anonymous, but if you wish to add your name or contact information on it, feel free. You may also contact me at webadmin@nowthatyoureonfire.com

I woke up with a headache today. This is not an unusual thing lately. It seems to be happening more often than not. I remembered, as I forced myself to get out of bed and find some clothes to wear, that we had an appointment today. I contemplated rescheduling. Just not up for interacting with another human being today. Not up for the challenge that it would be to act normal and keep a straight face. Not up for smiling. But I didn't really think these things consciously. I just knew I didn't want another person in my house today.

I got myself some water and a pill for my headache. Sometimes I hesitate. I wonder 'how many would I have to take? would it even work? or would it just make me sick and land me in the ER with my stomach getting pumped?' But it's only wondering. Only thoughts. Not actions. Even now, my memory of the morning is foggy. The fog outside doesn't really even compare to the fog in my head. But I like the fog, it makes my thoughts fuzzy and unclear, it makes my memories hard to see. Like watching a movie in a dark and smokey theater, shadows moving around on the screen, and the sound is off so you can't really tell what's going on. That's ok with me today.

I get some coffee and sit down and stare at the computer. I go through my normal activities of interacting with people on the screen. Superficial movements of going through the motions so people know that I'm still here. I'm still alive, I'm still ok.

I'm not ok.

I call to reschedule the appointment. My headache is nearly gone, but I can't do it today. Some days it's just harder to pretend. I feel a little better knowing I don't have to face anyone. But soon, my body recognizes that as well and the anxiety kicks up, my mind tells my body that it's ok to fall apart now. I'm breathless and shaky and feel like I can't get enough oxygen. I wonder what's wrong with me. I really haven't thought about it. I'm purposely ignoring it. I don't want to think about it and if I can just go trough the motions I can get through this without falling apart. Right?

At 9 I remember that I need to feed the kids. My head feels better, so I decide to make muffins. I don't know if it's the headache or the anxiety or both that make me feel dizzy. I'm sure it's all connected. Putting on some headphones and having some music helps. It helps give me something to focus on so that I don't think. I don't want to think. I don't want to remember.

I want to remember without having it hurt. I want to be at peace about it, to let it go and move on. Move forward. I feel stuck sometimes. I feel trapped in a moment and I hate watching the rest of my life just go on around me, leaving me behind. I'm so tired of standing still.

I feed the kids. I stand in the kitchen and stare out the window, wishing I was free to just fall on the floor and cry. But I can't. I have to keep it together. My chest is tight and my breath is quick and my hands shake. It's not fair. I shouldn't have to feel this way. He should be the one who has to feel this way, not me.

That stupid wedding. That stupid trip. That stupid woman. That stupid conversation. That stupid look in her eye that told him she still wanted him. That stupid rush. That stupid flutter in his stomach that made him want her too. It makes me so angry. Sometimes I want to just hit him. But mostly I just want to cry. I say that I forgive, but I guess I don't know how. I didn't know the pain would linger this long. I'm ready for it to fade away, I'm ready to stop feeling this way. I'm ready for my subconscious to stop tormenting me and making me to remember.

I have begun to forget little bits here and there. I force myself to let go of things. But the words still hang in the air, little knives waiting to stab me in the back when I'm not looking. The conversations replay on tapes inside my mind but the person that says these things to me has no face anymore. And it's become my own voice repeating the things that he once said. Because I told myself over and over that he doesn't think or feel that way anymore. It gets more and more confusing and I just don't know what to believe. I reach a point where I just don't care.

And I'm stuck in a moment. A terrible moment where I am asking why as tears refuse to leave my eyes and air stops just short of my lungs. I ask why and all he can say is that he doesn't know. He doesn't know why.

I tell myself that it will be ok. I can do this. I can get past it. I can let go of the pain and the hurt and put my heart back together. But I know I have to do it on my own, and it's hard. I know that I can trust again. But before long, I question the wisdom of trusting again. I don't know if I even want to trust. I feel like such a fool for trusting in the first place. Blindly letting him hurt me, letting him step on me, letting him betray me. If I don't trust him, if I keep my distance, then if he does it again I have a better chance of surviving again. Do I want to? Perhaps I should trust. Perhaps I should give in and give it my all again. Then, maybe, if he hurts me again, maybe it will be enough. And it can be over. Because I've already had enough.

I have had enough. Some days, it's just too hard to pretend.

On days like this, I feel like sitting in the closet with a bottle of wine. In the dark. Alone.

On days like this, I feel like running away. Somewhere far away from here. Somewhere I can forget, forget everything and everyone and just exist.

On days like this, I want to write. I want to write everything, cut open my soul and let it all just bleed out until there is nothing left and the pages are stained with the blood of my story and myself. Then maybe it wouldn't hurt anymore.

No, it doesn't hurt everyday. It doesn't hurt everyday because I say it doesn't. Mind over matter. If I say it isn't there, it makes it go away. Yes, it does come back and haunt me now and then. But I can always make it go away again. And again.

I really don't have time to feel like this.

On days like this, I don't want to be me. I don't want to be anyone. And if I could, I would let myself melt into the floor and disappear. Cease to exist.

On days like this, I think of my dad's favorite movie - It's A Wonderful Life. That movie paints a dismal picture of what it would be like, all the ways it would be worse, if one man had never been born. But I think there is another side to that coin. I think there's a happier side to that story. What about the people that man might have hurt in his life? What about the hurt that was done to him? Perhaps there is pain that could have been avoided.

So I write. I don't write about me, but I do write about me. I don't cut open my soul and make a huge gaping wound that lets everything fall out all over the place, but I make little scratches on the surface. I let that tiny ribbon of me weave it's way in and out of whatever stories my imagination might let go. And for now, it will suffice. But sometimes? It feels like it's not enough.

On days like this, I need a bigger release. I need to break free.