treading

Sitting alone in the darkness of my bedroom is where I find the solace to fall apart..again. In my 20’s, my life seemed hard. It wasn’t. It was intense, magical and shiny. I believed in me, in having time to find everything important in my future. I thought time would move slow, like it always had. Days were long and nights, well they were even longer. Time didn’t feel like it was rushing around me, taking me down into the deep whirlpool of despair, pain, depression and parenting. Back then, moments happened, and I let them, paying homage to my soul. I loved unplanned, unexpected days. I haven’t had many of those for a long time.

Now the most surprising thing to me is how fast my life has flown by. Sounds cliche’, right? My grandma used to say..”don’t waste your life”, “time flies”, she had so many ways to say the same thing, but the gist is, I didn’t really believe it would fly in respect to myself, not that I thought about it much, I didn’t have to. Beautifully young withvso much time ahead, time to travel, to finish college, to write a novel, to have babies. I existed on very little sleep, relishing my super human powers of minute amounts of sleep. South of 50, life looks different, grey, fuzzy and . It boggles my mind that many of my friendships are a quarter of a century old..or older.

I’m not enjoying my life. It’s become such a struggle. An endurance test in managing chronic pain, so bad it takes my breath away dozens of times each day. Parenting my two teens has become the hardest thing I’ve ever imagined. It’s harder than I imagined and my pain makes me a bitch, which is a horrible combination. Reason and mindfulness vanish when the white hot pain in my knees seers my body and soul, with no escape available. If I take the time to worry about myself, I feel guilty. How can I worry about me, when my mommy instinct is to pour everything into them. The more often this happens, the more I realize though, that if I don’t take care of me, I can’t take care of them?