On Today's Nervous Breakdown
(written on July 25, 2008)
This morning I found myself sobbing on my bedroom floor. I was wearing a pretty sun dress and only minutes before had felt fabulous, checking out how nice my legs are beginning to look in heals. Then, I broke down. I slammed the door, fell to the floor and sat in a heap sobbing. The kind of sob you can't control. The kind of sob where your cheeks are sheets of water, and you don't know where it's all coming from. My bag was thrown across the room, the contents scattered everywhere. It sat there flopped dejectedly over itself, embarrassed to witness my breakdown.
Why was I in the middle of my room sobbing? Not easy to say. My car broke down. My son was playing in the sink, getting his school clothes soaked. We had 5 minutes to leave. My daughter was still standing in her room dripping wet from her shower, with no thought of getting dressed. And we had 5 minutes to leave. I couldn't find my earrings. The man I like doesn't like me. Every exboyfriend I know has asked me for a divorce fuck. I can't find a better job or a second one. And we had 5 minutes to leave. The money I'd saved is dwindling. The child support didn't come this week. It's looking like I won't make it down to Virginia to see my family or old classmates in October, perhaps not at all this year. My boss looked at me funny yesterday. Providence smells like garbage and I had to walk through it today. I know walking through it, I'm going to be cat called like I have been everyday for the past week because apparently men can smell the single all over me. But the nice ones won't talk to me. And we had 5 minutes to leave. My back hurt. I have bruises I can't explain. Pawtucket stinks like the river. And we had 5 minutes to leave. My daughter can't find her shoes that I'd told her to get 30 minutes before. The car is going to cost me another $400. I forgot to pay the phone bill. I talked to my mother on the phone last night. I haven't finished the writing for my grandfather and family members are up my ass about it. MOMMY!! Where are my keys? And we had 5 FUCKING minutes!
And I end up on the floor, crying my eyes out. All I wanted at that moment was to be held. "When is it my turn?" I kept repeating that phrase over and over. "When is it my turn?" I wonder sometimes, especially at the times I just can't take the shit life throws at me, why no one is here to take care of me. Why do I always have to be strong? Why do I always feel like I should be taking care of people around me? Where is someone to hold me and pat my head and tell me how stupid I was being because it always works out? My bedroom is empty. Except for me. I look at the mirror. I am alone.
But as I think of my man - who is out there somewhere, who will hold me one day - I think the man I want would never see me like this. Why? Because the breakdowns will be gone. I'm not saying he'd never see me sad or crying or in a manic writing phase. He would. But I've said before, it would take a strong man to be with me and let me figure him out. It would take a strong man to take the time to figure me out. I haven't found that man yet. What I have found is inner strength.
There was a day I actually believed that I had to put up with my husband's infidelity and abuse. When I would threaten to leave, I was told on several fronts I was crazy. There was a day I believed that I had no right to have dreams because I'd had babies. During that time, the fits came almost nightly. They were uncontrollable. I felt like I was drowning, dying. I think maybe my breakdowns were part of me trying to live. I went through hell. I left my husband. I spent my second pregnancy without him, with only Andrea there (God love you. I always will). I drove myself around while I was in labor. I worked a full 40-hour week, and took 15 credit hours in school. My son got sick. My divorce got nasty. I got ridiculously financially in the hole. I had to fight.
I went into battle screaming. It was dirty and muddy and filthy and bloody and painful. Somehow, little by little, skirmish by off-shore police action, I fought for a life. I'm poor. I don't have a man around to hold me. I'm still trying for that degree. Hell, I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. But I've got a life of my own, and for the most part I'm happy. My children are amazing. I no longer cry when I have to write a rent check. The migraines are less and less frequent. I have a beautiful network of friends. I have many scars and am still screaming, but life is good and getting better every day.
Today was a rare day, and I look forward to a day when I can look back and just say "Oh, well."
Why was I in the middle of my room sobbing? Not easy to say. My car broke down. My son was playing in the sink, getting his school clothes soaked. We had 5 minutes to leave. My daughter was still standing in her room dripping wet from her shower, with no thought of getting dressed. And we had 5 minutes to leave. I couldn't find my earrings. The man I like doesn't like me. Every exboyfriend I know has asked me for a divorce fuck. I can't find a better job or a second one. And we had 5 minutes to leave. The money I'd saved is dwindling. The child support didn't come this week. It's looking like I won't make it down to Virginia to see my family or old classmates in October, perhaps not at all this year. My boss looked at me funny yesterday. Providence smells like garbage and I had to walk through it today. I know walking through it, I'm going to be cat called like I have been everyday for the past week because apparently men can smell the single all over me. But the nice ones won't talk to me. And we had 5 minutes to leave. My back hurt. I have bruises I can't explain. Pawtucket stinks like the river. And we had 5 minutes to leave. My daughter can't find her shoes that I'd told her to get 30 minutes before. The car is going to cost me another $400. I forgot to pay the phone bill. I talked to my mother on the phone last night. I haven't finished the writing for my grandfather and family members are up my ass about it. MOMMY!! Where are my keys? And we had 5 FUCKING minutes!
And I end up on the floor, crying my eyes out. All I wanted at that moment was to be held. "When is it my turn?" I kept repeating that phrase over and over. "When is it my turn?" I wonder sometimes, especially at the times I just can't take the shit life throws at me, why no one is here to take care of me. Why do I always have to be strong? Why do I always feel like I should be taking care of people around me? Where is someone to hold me and pat my head and tell me how stupid I was being because it always works out? My bedroom is empty. Except for me. I look at the mirror. I am alone.
But as I think of my man - who is out there somewhere, who will hold me one day - I think the man I want would never see me like this. Why? Because the breakdowns will be gone. I'm not saying he'd never see me sad or crying or in a manic writing phase. He would. But I've said before, it would take a strong man to be with me and let me figure him out. It would take a strong man to take the time to figure me out. I haven't found that man yet. What I have found is inner strength.
There was a day I actually believed that I had to put up with my husband's infidelity and abuse. When I would threaten to leave, I was told on several fronts I was crazy. There was a day I believed that I had no right to have dreams because I'd had babies. During that time, the fits came almost nightly. They were uncontrollable. I felt like I was drowning, dying. I think maybe my breakdowns were part of me trying to live. I went through hell. I left my husband. I spent my second pregnancy without him, with only Andrea there (God love you. I always will). I drove myself around while I was in labor. I worked a full 40-hour week, and took 15 credit hours in school. My son got sick. My divorce got nasty. I got ridiculously financially in the hole. I had to fight.
I went into battle screaming. It was dirty and muddy and filthy and bloody and painful. Somehow, little by little, skirmish by off-shore police action, I fought for a life. I'm poor. I don't have a man around to hold me. I'm still trying for that degree. Hell, I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. But I've got a life of my own, and for the most part I'm happy. My children are amazing. I no longer cry when I have to write a rent check. The migraines are less and less frequent. I have a beautiful network of friends. I have many scars and am still screaming, but life is good and getting better every day.
Today was a rare day, and I look forward to a day when I can look back and just say "Oh, well."
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