Every Minute of Every Day
Today, for the third time, I considered voluntarily checking myself into a mental institution.
That feels like a scary thing to admit, but it's my truth, and I'm trying to stand up in it as best I can without fear of being seen as weak or come across as attention seeking. I'm not suicidal. I have no plans or desires to hurt myself or anyone else. It's actually the exact opposite.
I am absolutely terrified of dying or losing someone close to me, and it's making me feel like I'm losing my mind.
I think I've reached the stage of grieving where you just want to curl up into a ball in the center of your bed, cover your head, and never, ever come out because the world is scary, and if you could just keep yourself and everyone you love wrapped up in your alternative down duvet forever, you'd never have to face death again. At least not until you pass away peacefully in your sleep, the way nearly everyone hopes to go, but it feels like most rarely do.
That's not exactly how it goes for most people, right? I'd take the time to google the percentage of people who actually manage to die in their sleep of old age, but I'm sure I'd end up down some rabbit hole reading about all of the other ways that people tend to die. It feels like most of the time, the vast majority of people wake up thinking they'll do anything and everything except die, and then they just...do. It surprises the hell out of them and everyone they've ever known, and all of those people are left behind to pick up the pieces of their lives and learn how to live them without the person they've lost. They die in car crashes, plane crashes, school shootings, mall shootings, domestic violence incidents, freak accidents where they go left when they should've gone right and end up being impaled by a runaway beach umbrella. Or, they wind up with a diagnosis for a terminal illness that they feel like they could've or should've caught earlier but didn't, and they try to live a life after that, but end up dying slowly...and not in the way that we all are with every passing second, but in that way that is painful to watch, and makes you wish you could trade places with them and give your life for theirs, or do anything, and I mean anything to take away their pain.
I think about that last scenario a lot. Daily. Multiple times a day. Multiple times a minute on days like today, when I'm staring down the barrel of my own mortality because I'm overly cautious (some would say paranoid) about every pain and twinge (and there are a lot of them when you live with a chronic illness), and every lump, mole, and strange new happening on my aging body. It doesn't help that every time I've gone to the doctor, there actually has been something wild going on with my body. Well, it does, and it doesn't. It's nice to know I'm not imagining the things that are popping up, but it also reminds me of how fragile our existences are, and how there are so many people who don't have access to quality healthcare and end up missing important screenings, or worse, ignoring the things that go wrong with their bodies and minds because they metaphorically and literally simply can't afford to do anything about them.
Then, the worst of it comes flooding in.
I start to think about what I'll leave behind.
I don't know that I have any concrete ideas about what happens when we die. I like to think that the essence of who we are never leaves, and watches over those we love in tandem with the universe and God who also work for our greater good (though it sure as fuck doesn't feel like it sometimes). I don't even know that I give a shit what happens to me after I die. All I can think about, and the thing that gives me the type of anxiety that makes me want to scream, cry, and destroy everything in my path in protest, is what will happen to my baby after I'm gone?
I'm almost certain that my maternal line is cursed. That's some heavy shit to think about and carry within yourself, but I feel it. I don't know how to break it just yet, but it scares the shit out of me, because I absolutely cannot fathom leaving this Earth and leaving my daughter. Mothers in my direct line don't typically live very far into their daughters' adulthoods. That shakes me to my core, and makes me feel so insignificant and so short on time that I get dizzy and breathless. I start to hyperventilate, and then I get hyper-focused on whatever is right in front of me, and I'm gone. I'm transported to a place where time stands still and races simultaneously, and I'm stuck in a trance that can only be broken by the creak of my office door at work when someone enters unexpectedly, or the gleeful shriek of "Mama!" from my sweet girl, eager to show me yet another perfected cartwheel, which I've repeatedly asked her not to execute in the living room. I get stuck in this loop of "how the fuck are you supposed to make sure that she turns out the be the best version of herself if you're not around?" and "how will she know exactly what you believe to be the core values that create a great human being if she doesn't have you to drill them into her head?" I ask myself, "will she learn to love every. single. wondrous thing about herself, from her bouncy crop of curls, to her large and lovely feet?" and "who's going to teach her to fight bigotry at every turn, and to NEVER let a man make her feel less than or force her to shrink when she should shine?" I've asked a few people to take care of her for me when I'm gone over the years, but who among them can take care of her the way her Mama can? Not a one, I'm afraid. I'm even more afraid, still, that she will end up in a home situation that just isn't conducive to nurturing her sensitive, supple soul, which needs constant reassurance of its value and worth because she is her Mama's child, full of generational trauma that would only be made worse by being allowed to fall through the cracks and live on scraps of attention as one of many instead of the one who commands the attention she needs and deserves. Legally, there's nothing I can do to stop it as of now, though I've made mention to her Aunt and Uncle J about how I'd ideally want them to be the ones to keep her safe and soft. That's on me. I'll need to get my shit together in order to alleviate the intense stress that that particular potential battle creates within me, but the fact still remains: if...when, I go...what becomes of my greatest treasure and most precious gift?
This is the shit that makes me want to tuck myself away because it's too painful to think about. The thought of leaving her behind makes me want to hold her close and never, ever let go. I've cried almost every day this week just looking at how much her face has changed even from the week before. She's almost as tall as me, and already as outspoken and bold as I could ever hope to be, which is both a blessing and a curse of its own until she learns how and when to appropriately wield that type of power. There it is again. Who's going to teach her how to be both loud and proud when it counts, and quiet and introspective when it's necessary to reflect? Who's going to be here to teach her to stand her ground while she makes room for others? Who's going to keep talking to her about how she never needs to deny who she is, and how she should be proud to be a beautiful Black girl? Who's going to be there to rub her back the way she likes when she wakes up slowly in the mornings, or brush her hair back and play her favorite podcasts for her at night before bed? The bond I share with my little love is unreal, and it shatters my heart to think about how there will come a day when she may feel that bond slip away because I'm not here to nurture it any longer. Then, I think about how that day could come soon, and I lose it completely. I'm stuck in the loop again, wondering what the hell I can do to stop the inevitable, or at least stop myself from obsessing over the inevitable.
This isn't the nice, tidy ending I hoped for.
That feels like a scary thing to admit, but it's my truth, and I'm trying to stand up in it as best I can without fear of being seen as weak or come across as attention seeking. I'm not suicidal. I have no plans or desires to hurt myself or anyone else. It's actually the exact opposite.
I am absolutely terrified of dying or losing someone close to me, and it's making me feel like I'm losing my mind.
I think I've reached the stage of grieving where you just want to curl up into a ball in the center of your bed, cover your head, and never, ever come out because the world is scary, and if you could just keep yourself and everyone you love wrapped up in your alternative down duvet forever, you'd never have to face death again. At least not until you pass away peacefully in your sleep, the way nearly everyone hopes to go, but it feels like most rarely do.
That's not exactly how it goes for most people, right? I'd take the time to google the percentage of people who actually manage to die in their sleep of old age, but I'm sure I'd end up down some rabbit hole reading about all of the other ways that people tend to die. It feels like most of the time, the vast majority of people wake up thinking they'll do anything and everything except die, and then they just...do. It surprises the hell out of them and everyone they've ever known, and all of those people are left behind to pick up the pieces of their lives and learn how to live them without the person they've lost. They die in car crashes, plane crashes, school shootings, mall shootings, domestic violence incidents, freak accidents where they go left when they should've gone right and end up being impaled by a runaway beach umbrella. Or, they wind up with a diagnosis for a terminal illness that they feel like they could've or should've caught earlier but didn't, and they try to live a life after that, but end up dying slowly...and not in the way that we all are with every passing second, but in that way that is painful to watch, and makes you wish you could trade places with them and give your life for theirs, or do anything, and I mean anything to take away their pain.
I think about that last scenario a lot. Daily. Multiple times a day. Multiple times a minute on days like today, when I'm staring down the barrel of my own mortality because I'm overly cautious (some would say paranoid) about every pain and twinge (and there are a lot of them when you live with a chronic illness), and every lump, mole, and strange new happening on my aging body. It doesn't help that every time I've gone to the doctor, there actually has been something wild going on with my body. Well, it does, and it doesn't. It's nice to know I'm not imagining the things that are popping up, but it also reminds me of how fragile our existences are, and how there are so many people who don't have access to quality healthcare and end up missing important screenings, or worse, ignoring the things that go wrong with their bodies and minds because they metaphorically and literally simply can't afford to do anything about them.
Then, the worst of it comes flooding in.
I start to think about what I'll leave behind.
I don't know that I have any concrete ideas about what happens when we die. I like to think that the essence of who we are never leaves, and watches over those we love in tandem with the universe and God who also work for our greater good (though it sure as fuck doesn't feel like it sometimes). I don't even know that I give a shit what happens to me after I die. All I can think about, and the thing that gives me the type of anxiety that makes me want to scream, cry, and destroy everything in my path in protest, is what will happen to my baby after I'm gone?
I'm almost certain that my maternal line is cursed. That's some heavy shit to think about and carry within yourself, but I feel it. I don't know how to break it just yet, but it scares the shit out of me, because I absolutely cannot fathom leaving this Earth and leaving my daughter. Mothers in my direct line don't typically live very far into their daughters' adulthoods. That shakes me to my core, and makes me feel so insignificant and so short on time that I get dizzy and breathless. I start to hyperventilate, and then I get hyper-focused on whatever is right in front of me, and I'm gone. I'm transported to a place where time stands still and races simultaneously, and I'm stuck in a trance that can only be broken by the creak of my office door at work when someone enters unexpectedly, or the gleeful shriek of "Mama!" from my sweet girl, eager to show me yet another perfected cartwheel, which I've repeatedly asked her not to execute in the living room. I get stuck in this loop of "how the fuck are you supposed to make sure that she turns out the be the best version of herself if you're not around?" and "how will she know exactly what you believe to be the core values that create a great human being if she doesn't have you to drill them into her head?" I ask myself, "will she learn to love every. single. wondrous thing about herself, from her bouncy crop of curls, to her large and lovely feet?" and "who's going to teach her to fight bigotry at every turn, and to NEVER let a man make her feel less than or force her to shrink when she should shine?" I've asked a few people to take care of her for me when I'm gone over the years, but who among them can take care of her the way her Mama can? Not a one, I'm afraid. I'm even more afraid, still, that she will end up in a home situation that just isn't conducive to nurturing her sensitive, supple soul, which needs constant reassurance of its value and worth because she is her Mama's child, full of generational trauma that would only be made worse by being allowed to fall through the cracks and live on scraps of attention as one of many instead of the one who commands the attention she needs and deserves. Legally, there's nothing I can do to stop it as of now, though I've made mention to her Aunt and Uncle J about how I'd ideally want them to be the ones to keep her safe and soft. That's on me. I'll need to get my shit together in order to alleviate the intense stress that that particular potential battle creates within me, but the fact still remains: if...when, I go...what becomes of my greatest treasure and most precious gift?
This is the shit that makes me want to tuck myself away because it's too painful to think about. The thought of leaving her behind makes me want to hold her close and never, ever let go. I've cried almost every day this week just looking at how much her face has changed even from the week before. She's almost as tall as me, and already as outspoken and bold as I could ever hope to be, which is both a blessing and a curse of its own until she learns how and when to appropriately wield that type of power. There it is again. Who's going to teach her how to be both loud and proud when it counts, and quiet and introspective when it's necessary to reflect? Who's going to be here to teach her to stand her ground while she makes room for others? Who's going to keep talking to her about how she never needs to deny who she is, and how she should be proud to be a beautiful Black girl? Who's going to be there to rub her back the way she likes when she wakes up slowly in the mornings, or brush her hair back and play her favorite podcasts for her at night before bed? The bond I share with my little love is unreal, and it shatters my heart to think about how there will come a day when she may feel that bond slip away because I'm not here to nurture it any longer. Then, I think about how that day could come soon, and I lose it completely. I'm stuck in the loop again, wondering what the hell I can do to stop the inevitable, or at least stop myself from obsessing over the inevitable.
This isn't the nice, tidy ending I hoped for.
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