Today I’m in bed. I have no care for the world and it has no care for me. My husband is left to look after the children.
I am tired inside and out. My energy is reserved for trips to the bathroom.
I just want sleep. I don’t want thoughts, I don’t want feelings. I don’t want to hear my family or any evidence of the world existing.
Yes, I can see my prescription medications lined up and the thought enters my mind – end it all! End it all now! You don’t have to take this miserable journey. But the truth is, I’m not at such desperate measures. My death would be spontaneous, without thought, taking an opportunity as it arose. In the midst of great despair. Not swallowing pills with all likelihood of my husband walking in and rushing me to hospital and then the undignified treatment and explaining I would have to do.
So I’m lying here. My trusty fan whirling away keeping me cool. Popping the odd diazapam to keep from the panic. Feeling the loneliness but knowing that there is no one that can fill that gap.
Tomorrow I will be back to performing motherly duties. Not a diazapam in sight. I will be there for them, I will tidy the house, and make as I always do. The perfect robot. Feelings go in a rusty old box somewhere. Because no one likes a mother that cries, a woman that screams so guttural ‘I can’t do this anymore’ that begs ‘someone help me’ that howls like a wounded animal, that falls to her knees and says ‘please, it hurts so much.’
No, that wouldn’t do at all.
Hence the rest day.