Memento Mori

I wake up. Morose My eyes aren’t open yet but I already feel the weight of the day bearing down on my chest. The morning hurts my skin, dread washes over me, and there’s a lump in my throat. There’s always a lump in my throat.

I drag myself out of bed with overwhelming reluctance and start getting my kids ready for school. “Wake up” “Get dressed” “Eat breakfast” “Brush your teeth”, I command guiltily, and with the full knowledge that I will not be doing any of these things myself. I try to button their jeans but my hands are shaking. My hands always shake.

I can’t drive (DUI) so my mother in law picks up the boys and takes them to school. No sooner does the front door slam shut that I’m crawling back into bed. Im not ready yet. I’m never ready. Theres too much bad shit running around in my brain and I need to hide from myself for a little longer. My last thoughts before falling asleep are suffocating, completely ridden with anxiety and dread. It’s 7:00am and I’m overwhelmed. I’m always overwhelmed.

10:00 am and my daughter wakes me up. I let her out of her room and half heartedly interact with her while watching daytime TV. The house is a wreck with plates and laundry everywhere. The room looks like I feel; cluttered with shit I never wanted but somehow have.

I wish I could clean. It would be so great to surprise my husband with a completely clean house. He would walk though the door surprised and smiling, give me lots of hugs, and tell me how proud he is. I would know that I’ve made up for the burden I’ve become. He would look at me with joy instead of disappointment and it would be all better.

I want so badly to make it better.

But I remain in bed, inhaling every part of the world that hurts me and exhaling every part of my life thats good. Instead of cleaning I’m toiling with darkness. I’m wrestling with regret so jagged that it surfaces like rocks beneath the skin.

I can’t clean. I can barely stand. I won’t get the smile or the hug or feel the pride of productivity and nothing about today will warrant celebration. Just more nothing. Always more nothing.

Its not as if she owed us anything, and there was certainly no reason for me to expect it, but standing in that cemetery looking at her couldn’t help feeling disappointed.

It’d been 20 years since my dad passed, and selfishly I’d hoped that seeing my aunt would somehow bring a piece of him back to me, she bore such a striking resemblance. But now, actually speaking to her, familiar as her face was even after all this time, nothing about her felt like family. Her voice had no emotion, her words had no sincerity, and her hug was as feckless as our childhood pleas to keep in touch.

Which she didn’t.

None of them did.

In fact, the only person in that crowd who’d ever made any effort to acknowledge our existence was about to be lowered into the earth and surrounded by bodies no more warm and familiar than the ones that surrounded me now.

Cold and quiet strangers. Ghosts.

And as my sisters arrived one by one, and with the sting of indifference filling the air, it became increasingly obvious that with my grandmas passing also passed the last remaining string that ever tied us to these people. They’d made themselves irrelevant and I could walk away knowing that their approval no longer mattered. Not to me. Not to any of us.

I lay there, shaking, depleted and aching for drugs. It’s been hours since my last Vicodin, and if my body wasn’t already aching from the withdrawals, the excessive vomiting and diarrhea had me down for the count. I’m already convulsing in agony from the WDs and know it’s only going to get worse. In a desperate attempt at silver lining I tell myself I’m making the right decision. Though small, I do find a bit of comfort in the knowledge that I no-loner have to fear this day. I have to get some to rest cos I know the next few days are going to kick my ass. I close my eyes and try to sleep.

But I can’t.

Its day two now, and the bed is saturated in 24 hours of continuous withdrawal sweat. Toxins are working their way out through my pores; and i can feel myself soaking in them. The bed is gross and smells of day old sweat and cigarette smoke, it makes me sick, but I’m too exhausted to do anything about it. My whole body feels like death so I just lay there underneath my own sick and let the damp sheets cool me down some before I close my eyes and try to sleep again.

But I can’t.

I reluctantly open my eyes. No sleep still, and I’ve been awake so long that days have become indiscernible. Im calculating time in units of distance. Each second stretches out 100 miles ahead of me, and Im fairly certain it’s only day three. At this point I’ve become hyper-aware of every cell in my body and each one is on fire and screaming for relief. My skin feels like it’s crawling, my body is flailing involuntarily and it’s been three days since I’ve had any food. Fuck food. I want sleep. In an act of desperation I’m now cradling the bible in my arms and calling out for “gods” help. I don’t wait for an answer, I just roll my eyes and curse at silence as I pull the sour sheets up and over my head again, cringe at the smell, and try to sleep.

But can’t

Day four: I’m in the bathtub taking what must be my 5th bath of the day, though at this point I’m not even sure what day it is. The bathwater is scalding and I’m hoping the burn will soothe the “itch” in my muscles. It’s like the feeling you get when you take a deep breath that doesn’t catch; when your lungs are rattling and straining for air. That’s how every inch of my body feels. I can’t stop twitching but the bath is starting to cool so I reach for the towel and attempt to throw up again before climbing back into bed. I pessimistically close my eyes and try to sleep for the 100th time today.

But I can’t.

I open my eyes. I’m thirsty, and though it’s been days since I’ve gone as far as the kitchen I make my way to the fridge and guzzle down an entire bottle of Gatorade. I’m dizzy, and possibly hungry, so i nibble on a stale saltine and head back to bed. I get about as far as my door frame and stop short. Oh my god, It smells like shit. Since I’m already up I grab some sheets out of the hall closet and gag while removing the yellow, sweat soaked ones from my bed. It takes me a minute but I’m finally done. I see the remote I threw at the door two days ago and use my last ounce of life to grab it before crawling back into bed. The dry sheets make me feel a little better and I flip on some daytime TV. My hair is in my face and I pull it back into a knot so I can watch. Reluctantly I finish the saltine cracker and take another sip of juice before closing my eyes and trying to sleep again. I open my eyes seven minutes later.

My son is hungry. He wants cereal. I pour him a bowl. I need a spoon.

I look in the drawer I look in the sink I look in the dishwasher I need a spoon.

Why the fuck can’t I find one! Where the fuck did they go? The cereal is getting soggy. I need a spoon!!

Why can’t I find anything Especially something so simple Why does everything elude me I NEED a spoon!

I never get what I want. The goddamn world hates me. This is so fucking typical I NEED A SPOON.

Fuck them for not helping Dont you see how much I need this? This isnt a game I NEED A FUCKING SPOON

I can’t stop searching Ill knock over the chairs I’ll throw shit everywhere I NEED A SPOON

I’ve never been so angry I kicked a whole in the wall I’m the worst person ever I NEED A SPOON!!!

This is all my fault I can’t do anything right I let my kid down again I NEED A SPOON

I don’t know how this happened I didn’t see this coming My whole world is crumbling I NEED A SPOON.

I give up I’ve done it again I can’t make it better I need a spoon.

i know it may feel like you have no one to talk to, so maybe try a suicide hotline if you haven’t already. you don’t have to talk to anyone you know just yet, but these people are trained to give advice and to help people in your exact position. i’m so sorry that you’re going through this and i’m not sure where you live but i’ll leave a list and i hope you can find one for where you are.

Argentina: +5402234930430

Australia: 131114

Austria: 017133374

Belgium: 106

Bosnia & Herzegovina: 080 05 03 05

Botswana: 3911270

Brazil: 212339191

Canada: 5147234000 (Montreal); 18662773553 (outside Montreal)

Croatia: 014833888

Denmark: +4570201201

Egypt: 7621602

Finland: 010 195 202

France: 0145394000

Germany: 08001810771

Holland: 09000767

Hong Kong: +852 2382 0000

Hungary: 116123

India: 8888817666

Ireland: +4408457909090

Italy: 800860022

Japan: +810352869090

Mexico: 5255102550

New Zealand: 045861048

Norway: +4781533300

Philippines: 028969191

Poland: 5270000

Russia: 0078202577577

Spain: 914590050

South Africa: 0514445691

Sweden: 46317112400

Switzerland: 143

United Kingdom: 08457909090

a gifset of planet facts because i rlly love space!!