I think maybe I’ve been dead for a long fucking time already, but just struggling to hold on…  Struggling to try.  

Today I took my fourth shower for this year.  Yes, this year.  I did my hair, my makeup looks amazing, I went to the store prepared to create majestic, beautiful pieces of art.  I ended up not having help with the baby, and got stuck with another kid to boot.

I did get invited out for tacos… Other people wanted to come too, including my husband but I said no!!!!!!  NO, NO, NO!!! I wanted someone to just take me out.  To not talk about business, games, whatever… I wanted to maybe have a glass of wine.  To discuss a movie?  I don’t know,a book? When it was the baby’s bedtime we got her home and my daughter who has been running around with her friends decided she needed to go back to her boyfriends, who she’s been with for two days straight.  

Of course I come home…  I am the one who decided to take in a baby, not my daughter.  

I stood in my studio as I prepared to leave and I looked around.  I looked around at all of the beautiful, 1/2 finished art projects.  I looked around at the room where a beautiful, extraordinary person used to spend hours creating art…  Happiness, thicker than the oils spread across my canvas used to drip from my paintbrushes… Now I sit.  

In my recliner.

In my socks.

With the remote.

And the pugs.

And the baby.

And my hair buns.

And my pot when she is asleep.

And my tears…

And my Harry Potter

Without makeup.

Without company…

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Today I said goodbye to my art room.  I know it will be the last time I try.  I know it is my fault.  I shouldn’t have tried.  

But for a minute, people talked TO ME!!  they didn’t fall asleep while we talked, I was told I was pretty, I laughed.  It didn’t last long enough for me to feel it, but I imagine it would have felt amazing.

Today is the day that I accept that my life is over and I’m far too sick, far too gone, and the only thing I can’t honestly do without conflict is to sit.

In my recliner…

In my socks.

With the remote.

And the pugs.

And the baby.

And my hair buns.

And my pot when she is asleep.

And my tears…

And my Harry Potter

Without makeup.

Without company…

Alone.

Alone.

Alone….

I’m too fucking chicken shit to kill myself, but I accept that I am no longer alive, and I never will be again…

I think it is actually liberating….  I can release the sadness of the life I had, and the pain of being alone.  Just know that I am….

Hopefully there’s something good on cable.  

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