I always had pretty sensitive nerves but a few years ago, I was diagnosed with both neuropathy and fibromyalgia. The only thing my doctor did was offer up some hydrocodone. Yay. Just what I aspire to be, a prescription drug addict. I filled them a few times, but this haunting thought of myself with gray hair popping pill after pill made it impossible for me to take them. I don’t wanna be the old lady licking cough syrup off the floor. I’ve seen that lady…. Continue reading
It’s finally been raining all week. I don’t consider the summer truly over until we start to get the rainy weeks. I need my boys to come home from football practice with mud caked to their cleats to make peace with the passing of summer. Oh how I used to love the summer….
This year summer had nothing magical about it. There were no trips to the beach, no late night phone calls to my love, no weekend getaways. There were no amusement parks, no road trips, no picnics, and not even a yard full of flowers to sit and enjoy.
There was a broken air conditioner, a pregnant daughter, doctors who threw out scary scenarios for us to pray over, a shoulder surgery, a sister trying to turn her life around, a mother who never called with she was needed, a cancer scare that hasn’t gone away and a house full of kids who were tired of Ramen Noodles.
The worst of it was that I am the one who lost the magic. I was the one who loaded those kids into the car year after year and made games out of hunting for rocks on dirt roads or piled them into a musty old cabin near the sand with nothing more than a few groceries and a bottle of sunblock to make the perfect vacation. I made the magic, but it’s like everything is gone now.
A hurricane stole that little cabin from me. And a disease has taken my joy. My love of writing has been sitting stagnant from the pain in my fingers. My love of capturing the perfect scene has been held back because of the fire radiating through my feet. My dream of a weekend on the road by myself to take nature pictures, squished! (I got the camera, and I lost the drive.) My journal of prayer has turned to a book of worry. Even my love of mothering is impaired by the pure lack of energy that has taken me hostage.
I’ve lost my ambition. I’ve lost my purpose. I’ve lost myself. And honestly, I don’t think anyone has noticed that I’m gone. I’m just an empty shell of the girl I want to be. Sometimes I reach out, but I don’t think I get through. So I wonder, at what point have you lost enough to just stop existing?
What is a life that sits un-lived? Maybe there’s a pill for that too. I’m taking so many, what’s one more, right?