No matter what, it seems that September will constantly be the month that breaks me…. It should be celebratory, I was born, right?
No matter how awesome that may be, many other things overshadow it now….things that have just piled up and come haunting out each year.
11 years ago, I lost my daughter while her father was deployed. He left before we found out I was pregnant. When he.came back, I had to tell him we had almost been parents, but that, in the course of one bloody July day, it was no more.
Shortly after that, a trip to the er found I had a serious autoimmune disease in my lungs. 3 years of heavy medication, insomnia, and 4 small tumors later….I was “healthy” and facing my final year of college.
Amidst what was joyful news, I received the most heartbreaking phone call…. That he was died - KIA….I’d never hear his voice, see his face and smile, or feel his arms around me.
I shoved myself into school and work….anything to not have to think about that news and what it meant for me and the life that had been discussed.
Burnt out from plowing through the last of my senior year, I took time off to work. And fell victim to that which had claimed many of my generation …inability to find work that would support bills like rent, utilities, food …And still allow for graduate school prep.
5 years ago. Still struggling, miserable…a letter came that destroyed my world. he wasn’t dead. He’d been in a coma. And nearly everything from the 5 years prior were gone. Only slowly coming back.
Only to have him disappear again.
Then came my wedding.. .by this time that next year, I’d been on the run for my life from an abusive spouse, living on couches week to week, terrified fir my life, broken down like I hadn’t been broken in decades.
The following year….I was back among friends. Trying to heal, trying to work and get back on my feet, struggling with the rug being pulled from beneath me.
The next two years…..a lie. Being used and broken down even more. Planning a wedding for a proposal he never meant to keep. Planning a life. To have it once more ripped away. Lies, cheating, fights …. Only to find out it had never been intended to maintain fidelity. Shattered, I moved again….what I could take with me….but not with spirit, soul, or dignity. A shell. Pieces of this person I used to be. ..but not enough of a ghost to really even recognize myself.
And now….coming to this momentous milestone….. I can’t look back and be proud that I always came out fighting. I can’t see hope. I can’t find reasons to hope or keep being a caring person.
It’s gone. I’m not remotely present anymore. And I.can’t keep fighting. I’m tired, exhausted. I just keep being hurt.
Ignored when needing support. Given advice or pep talks that just don’t help or encourage anymore. They only serve to engage by reflecting the sharp reality of what those choices and being that person have done.
I’ve been left empty. Alone. And not even sure if I want to fight anymore for something I can’t believe in or can’t have direct positive results for.
I’m this broken, tattered shell of a human. One so battered there’s nothing left to care for. Nothing left to fight for.
No dreams. No belief in self. Nothing. And bitterness….overwhelming desire to just walk away from those depending on me who can’t seem to help in return.
It’s too much, it’s too hard, it can’t be so bad. But it’s a load I’ve been carrying for years now, mostly alone. And I just can’t anymore .
I don’t want to.