sometimes I just can’t do it. It feels as if everytime a piece of joy comes my way, I believe that something will screw it up. That “something” is usually me or the kids or DD.
This fatalism is a wicked sister, she self fufills her prophecy. Who, what, when told me in this life that it will always be a struggle, that nothing is what it seems?
My mother always warned me to stop being so naive, so open. She was correct. She also shielded me from the wicked desires of others. She set me up to lose much. She and my dad also showed me how to laugh how to find joy.
Normal, typical are now and will be foreign. Yes, living now in the moment works. I can’t fool myself, though. The road has been longer than I imagined and I am afraid to dream of the future.
Those big dreams of motherhood and marriage burst rather violently into my psyche. I am afraid to dream, sometimes.
I sit with a son who cannot control himself. I live a life where I continuously struggle to make sense. Tonight I am worn down and feel adrift.
I cry like a immature baby. I want to know why the fuck me? and the answer is most assuredly, why the fuck not?