cluttering the net since 2001

suicidal but i'll live through even this...

Wednesday, Aug. 04, 2004
You know what it is to figure it all out too late? I do. I know inside and out how suicidal it is making me. And yet I won’t kill myself because there’s a little boy somewhere who would be devastated and for that reason and that reason alone I must endure. I can’t imagine him sitting near a Christmas tree one day telling someone about how he “used to” have a Mommy. I can’t picture the aftermath of my selfishness and therefore I’ll never do that…..but at 3 a.m. when I can’t sleep, when I can’t eat…when I’m so uncertain of my future and all I feel is that hollow ache inside I mastermind every possible way in which a person could off themselves. I even wondered if I made a huge jump for it if I could jump from my living room window down into the pool. This is an impossibility…but imagine someone trying to figure out how my dead body got there and what I might have been attempting to do. It wouldn’t be as though I appeared to have just killed myself. It might look like I believed I could fly to the pool. I think about razor blades and too many pills and what if I took them and woke up deaf or mute or retarded. I would be remorseful for what my son had to see and unable to apologize. That just might be a bigger hell than the one I’m living in now. I think about strangers finding me. People I don’t know moving my appendages into plastic bags, being a statistic on a cold metal chart somewhere. I think about someone finding me and helping me…still breathing…CPR and waking up in a warm sunny room with a grandmotherly type who might help me heal enough to want to face the world again. I think about all the possibilities and then I do nothing. I sit and stare and do nothing. I iron clothes for interviews I don’t care about knowing I need to care. I need to pursue and try. I must look hollow and beaten even though the suits are pressed and my shoes are clean and my smile is big. My eyes can’t lie. Red swollen….wearing lipstick to offset the blush of my heartache.

I don’t write this for your sympathy R…I don’t want your pity your hugs that mean what. What does any of it mean when you can walk away? When you can leave me to my own devices? They mean you love me…I know you love me…but not enough….not enough…I just keep hearing in my head “not enough…not enough..never enough….I’m too late…too late….

I try to reason it, understand it..know that I myself did it..and none of that changes what I feel inside. I feel rejected..unwanted..unloved…un…unfucking everything. I feel lost. Mostly I feel lost. Like someone entrusted me with the fate of something huge and I can’t determine it alone. I can’t even breathe life back into myself…even though the will is still there. I want to blink my eyes and forget because forgetting would mean I didn’t drop the ball.

I sit and look at all of my belongings…things I once coveted and thought mattered and I don’t care about them. I have hundreds of books I’ve never read and not one ounce of me imagines ever wanting to again. I call libraries to see if they want a donation…in the name of a nameless baby..one I haven’t been able to truly love yet. I try to throw things away because they hurt to look at but I can’t bear to touch things that cause me to remember and so I avert my eyes all day and keep moving about as though it’s not there. But I cannot lie to myself that pieces of you aren’t floating around. I wonder about dead skin and hair follicles and instead of cleaning the bathroom I pee there and wonder if somehow I can imagine a world where your dead skin cells and mine are still together, inhabiting the same places but yearning for pe-tree dishes where something can form back together.

I pick at my cuticles, pet the dog absentmindedly and know that everyone thinks I’m insane. That everyone hates me…because I made a mistake…when I didn’t get help…too long ago.

I had things I never thought I’d have and I fucked it all up. And that last sentence is all I talk to myself about. The inevitable knowing that at some point I have to suck it all up and move on. Because he’s not going to ever come back. I want to frame every piece of lint into something worth saving because it can’t possible all mean nothing can it? I stand under cold showers crying and wanting to just feel nothing. I used to despise being numb, now I despise any emotion that leads to this same heartbreaking pain.

For the first time in my adult life I want my mother. I want her to hold me and caress my face and give me answers for how to cope and deal with everything. I want this baby and I don’t. I don’t want to be a struggling single parent constantly explaining away the absence of a father. Or at best trying to explain how I forced him out.

The tears are a waste of my time. They change nothing. The apologies ..what do they mean if they don’t repair anything? The movements are that of a dead soul. I move through my days, smile at interviews; throw up bowls of cereal as quick as they are consumed. I sit and stare at nothing for hours hoping to see some answer, some direction…somewhere to go. I pack my suitcase then unpack it. Promise I’ll be there and then hedge about how to go and why I should. I can’t let go of hope and yet it’s all I have to hold onto. And yet…maybe I need to face the facts of what has happened. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. He’s just not ever going to walk in that door unannounced again. It’s done. Everything I’ve done is done. It’s all done. Done means finished. Another couple days….what will they change. Will mere days erase all of my mistakes. I want a pill to fix it. I want the roll of tape that will mend. I have nothing but my empty hands and my rambling thoughts. A tank full of gas and no map showing me the future.

I’m afraid. I’m afraid to sit there in a cold white room robe gaping open in the back and have to make a decision I feel ill able to make. How can I determine the fate of another person? I’m nearly praying that there is no heartbeat. That I don’t have to be the decision maker but rather that it wasn’t meant to be. Because if there is and I have to sit there and listen alone it will crack me wide open and I’ll never be ok again. I’ll never want to believe in love again. I’ll carry that with me forever. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do that. I don’t know if I can end a life as if it’s a mere mistake. A slip of the pen. A checkmark in the wrong box. A moment that doesn’t equal a life. I don’t want that. I don’t want any of this and yet here it is..it’s all over me…it’s engulfing me. It’s turning me inside out and everything’s a mess. I can’t go home and hum a tune and pretend it’s not here…I can’t for long. I eat…I throw up and in every piece that comes up I wonder how much of myself I lose. I wonder how much of who I was trying to be is never going to form. I wonder how much I’ve lost that will never heal.

And yet…I am not capable of doing it alone.

I need answers. I need to know. I need to know I’m loved or I’m not loved. I don’t think I’ll end anything…but maybe eventually peace will come. Peace will come when I have a direction to take. An idea of what I have to cope with and deal with. I wonder about all those happy married people with green lawns and SUV’s in their driveways who would want to give everything to this little person. I wonder if I should give them what no one else here wants and let this child have a life I have failed at giving my son. I wonder how happy I could make another person, maybe for the only time in my life I could give someone else something good and real and right.

I could change the diapers alone. Powder the limbs in my own way. I could if I had enough strength to believe there is an end to all of this pain I feel today. I could…but …there’s so much doubt.

I hear you laugh sometimes at work with someone else…and I know I should just let it all go….so you’d be happy..better off without me…. I need to just let you go.

In a few days….I’ll decide something….I have to. I can’t go on sitting here in the middle of this train track waiting and hoping I won’t get hit. I need to move forward…away….make choices… Five lifetimes from now…you’re voice will still make me cry. The mind cannot will the heart to stop loving….although I don’t know this yet because I haven’t the strength yet to try.


In a few days I will password protect my diary. I will divulge the password accordingly and as I see fit. You can request that password via my email address at poeticalgirl@hotmail.com Unfortunately you must be someone I know or have a viable way for me to track who you are. Any requests that I don’t recognize will be denied.

It is important to me to at least retain this. This diary which gave me solstice though my divorce and so many of my other trying times as well as happy and joyful times. I just can’t be on the receiving end of hatred for no good reason…and I can’t bear to write my soul down like this endlessly knowing that R. can read my thoughts..my feelings…my wants my wishes and yet I have nothing but blank pages to patch my heartache with. I cannot do so freely knowing he would still have parts of me and I have nothing to hold onto anymore.
12:24 p.m. ::
prev :: next