Down the Rabbit Hole

On the turning away

These last few days I seem to be getting farther and farther away from the life I thought I would have, from the one I wanted, from the one I saw for myself. I'm being to feel the tug of isolation as all the bonds seem to be crumbling around me. My stomach churns with anxiety and I often find myself feeling set apart and resentful. I dream of dead men. I drink too much caffiene and need to join a gym desparately. I have come so far from myself lately that its little wonder why he can't remember why he married me in the first place. Almost a year has gone by since that bright day when I thought everything had changed. The problem is, I'm still the same. I expect disappointment. I learned to live life without expectations and as a result, I fail to have faith. I fail to hold out hope. I'm still just as damaged as I ever was. I'm still the invisible one, the one who always "does" but never "is". Mostly, I'm angry about that. I miss my friends, I miss being part of something. I miss being important and effectual. I'm sick of watching everyone else's life march forward while my stays rooted. I'm exhausted by my failures which seem numerous to me. It hurts to feel the chasm widening between us. I miss the warmth in his eyes when he looks at me. Stress and strain have taken a toll and instead of holding up each other, we've let things wear us down more and more. My guess is that it is mostly my fault, but by now, he can no longer see what might be his part in it. So what now? Do I pull my classic move and cash out my chips? Pull the plug? Give up?
I don't think so. Not this time. This time I think I say "fuck it" for once. Deep down I know what I have to do, I know how to get back to me. Under the extra layer of weight and worse, self-doubting, is someone who thrives. I can feel her, sexy and confident and strong, right beneath my skin. Three years ago, I went from being a broken bird to someone independance, beautiful and fierce. Instead of being isolated, people gravitated toward me, he did back then too. SInce then though, I've gotten caught up in the "have nots" and lost my edge. No wonder he doesn't recognize me anymore. I've let myself go, in more ways than one. There were so many things I wanted to do, envelopes that needed "pushing". I need to really read what I write because the person I really am in there, in every piece, between the lines. I write erotica because I love it. I love passion and sex and the primative push and thrust of life. I'm not insane or crazy as he might think, I'm complicated and deep - and I like that. I love language and learning, I have a honest interest in the world. I want children but I've let the prospect of not having them, corrupt and corrode me. I want more out of life. Instead of asking for it, I've managed to convince myself I don't really need it...again. I've shut off parts of myself, I'm trying to be someone or something without knowing how or why. I can still be a good wife, friend and family member by being myself, by being more of myself. A hot mess. That's what I am going to give back to myself, starting today.