Meaningless Crap

Every morning I wake with a huge empty hole inside of me. It takes a few minutes of consciousness until I remember I need to get to work so that I don’t slip into anger. At least if I can maintain sadness, I don’t become self destructive. It’s hard. Making breakfast for my son, dog and I every morning. Squeezing out tears while my back is turned cutting up waffles to look like flowers.

I let the love of my son give me drops of hope. My dog is always by my side. My responsibility for them most of the time outweighs the joy I feel in their presence.

I’m extremely independent because I had to be, I was raised to be and I do like being self sufficient. Still people take. And I have no family. I am always empty besides what I fulfill in myself. And I do that for my son. I am taking him to therapy. He deserves support because no one can help me. I know I could be a better Mom, but the way my life turned out and the way my heart is, I couldn’t possibly be enough. I would give my last breath for him but it isn’t enough. He’s struggling. I’m so glad he’s getting the help I never got as a kid. But I do wonder how long I can go like this… on empty. With no source of nourishment in sight.

I wish we mattered, but all we have, I built from ashes. Nobody sees that. I know that. Someone would of scooped us up and loved us by now if they really cared. But they don’t. I’m not crazy. Just dying too soon. Like my parents. At least I won’t destroy my son like my parents did to me. At least there’s that. The little drops at the bottom of my deep well.

It’s tragic to me I couldn’t of given love to a partner. Poetry, art, passionate sex, coffee in bed, healthy bonds and growth… but those are torturous thoughts now.