A safe place to breathe

Like an alarm clock has been planted in my brain, I wake at 3 am.  3 AM….the witching hour?  Such irony!

I wake because I love him.  I wake because I don’t love him.  I wake because I’m angry at his cruelty or furious at my stupidity..  Or I wake in fear at the slow death I am living…  I do not know much of anything any more.  Most likely, I never did.

Jared says maybe he is just a distraction from “him”.  No!  I have feelings, I just can’t get them in order.  It all feels very sick and unhealthy and I do not wish to draw others into it as I try to clear it out.  I tear myself between running to Jared and running from him.  I slept past 3 am for a few weeks and that was exciting, so imagine my frustration to see 3 AM this morning!

I have so much to offer and yet I really have nothing.  I know how to work hard and can’t muster the energy or focus to do so.  I know how to love and not how to parent.  I know how to defend myself and don’t.  I can’t be a daughter of the very thing I need to escape while attempting my escape.

I am lost in translation at communicating.  Somewhere along the way I’ve lost my rights to humanity and I piss myself off with my weak attempts to reclaim them.  Perhaps we are not all granted these at birth?  Perhaps some of us are only intended as vehicles for others’ self expression of their rights?  What if I am that girl?  What if all I’ll ever know again is 3 AM?  And confusion?  And fighting to defend myself at all the wrong times in all the wrong ways for all the right reasons?  What if that is all I’ll ever be as I desperately push to define myself beyond that?

I have the clay in my hands.  I feel the power of formation.  I am uncomfortable with power.  I never wanted it because I can’t trust myself to be worthwhile.  I squeeze and squish….  I languish for hours forming my soul and at 3 AM,  I carelessly and intentionally destruct all I struggled to create only hours earlier.  Smashing the clay back to a blob of formless muck!

I live a slow death and do not wish to draw anyone into that.  Yet, I am lonely while lost in translation.  And I ache for trust.  And I have enough love to feed half of the world.  I bleed from the neck as I ever so slowly chop off my own head.  I wish for life!  I wish for death!  I don’t know the difference between that ending and this beginning.  I only know how to feel.  I was born to feel…  I feel you.  I feel him.  I feel her.  I feel them.  I feel it all.  I feel everything until I can’t feel anything anymore.  Feeling is life and feeling will be my death.  I don’t want that any more, but if I turn it off, am I not already dead?

Are you not dead once you can no longer feel?  Or is that just a different way of living?  Is there a safe place to breathe at 3 AM?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s