TO OPEN SOMETHING AND SPREAD IT OUT

August 13, 2013 § Leave a comment

Just after the funeral, she went into her mothers bedroom, locked the door and searched/hunted/found, the small book she’d sometimes see her mother scribbling in, maintaining her notes, were nothing special, just ideas for recipes, grocery lists, things she needed to remember like doctor’s appointments and school functions.

Oct3,03 I want to unfold.

Oct12,97 He’s gone again. Chicken is bad in the fridge. I forgot I’d put it out to defrost. Apparently my idiocy has deemed me a, “Dingbat!” as well as, “Flighty and scatterbrained,” It was too much for Jackson to handle tonight, poor thing, so he’s gone out to soak his sorry sorrows at the hole down the street. So he says.

Oct14,06 He actually offered to stay home with me tonight -Like I want that anymore- if only I’ll lay down and do ((what I’m supposed to do)). What could I do, but laugh. I had dinner to make, a house to clean, laundry to fold, all the other proverbial housewife shit, else he’ll die, else they all will-bloody fingers and broken wrists and hammer toes. Completely incapable of doing a thing for themselves.

It doesn’t make me feel good, to be expected…

Oh, how awful she is for not putting out. So many Jokes. My face hurts.

Oct21,06 Jan’s a gossip and a drama queen. She called me up at two in the morning to rub it in my face that she and Jackson used to sleep together when I’d get sick with my headaches. Shocker. Drunk on drunk. I advised her to call a cab and go straight to hell. Impossible whore!

November, 08 Turkey. The big salute to thievery. Americans: segavas

Nov4 (I don’t have a thing) And it’s official, though I’ve always known-I’ve hitched myself to a damned cheater. Liars are the scum.

Nov5 I don’t think I’m making thanksgiving dinner this year. Moronic pilgrims.

Nov8 I’ll just make a small turkey, for the kids. They’re getting older which means I only have so much Mac n’ cheese left to make. Francis just loves her Mac n’ cheese.

But that’s all. Jan can make his dressing and yams. Jan can also suck my fat dick.

I heard Francis scream that to someone on the phone yesterday. Chelsea can suck her fat dick. It was appalling – kids these days – but I don’t know, I got it.

Nov15 Reminded of Elijah, who was so shockingly humble he slept on the ground, I’ve been waking with body stiffness for years.

Nov25,disaster,93 I should have turned the lights out. I want to lay here in the dark. Just go away. I want to be left alone, forever. I don’t want anyone to come in here. I locked the door. Still, they’ll knock. They don’t understand. No one does. They’re waiting for me. Depending on me. Waiting for me to come out of here and get back to the business of reality. To be a mother, to be a wife, to be a thing transformed to suit everyone’s needs but my own. I have no purpose but the purpose of slavery. What if I don’t come out? What if I stay in here? There’s a razor there. I could pop out the blade and just cut my wrists. I’d do it the right way. It would hurt, that’s the scary part. It would hurt and I just don’t want to hurt anymore. How red will it be once all of my blood is mixed with the water? Who would find me? Who would see me this way? What would they think? There is so much of me afraid of what could happen to me when I die. I’ve only ever, wanted to be happy. But this has always been too much of me to ask. I am so alone in this world. I am so lost. I am sadder than I’ve ever been. If only I could float away.

They said I’m not stable enough to be on my own. I’m not in my right mind, they said. How they have any idea what a right mind is supposed to look like, beats me. Hungry doctors, how they think they know so much. Think they’ve got it all so figured out. Cherry picking pills to put me on. Looking up my symptoms in a book and bringing me photo copies of pages with things highlighted. This is you, they say. I should have just gone to a hotel.

December 2, 2012. Finally.

January 6, 2013. Doomsday has come, and gone.

March, Fin

To my greatest love,
I want you to know that I love you. I want you to know, that I did this, not only for me, but for you. I’ve realized my sadness is causing all of you pain. I know if I’m gone, you can all go on with your lives without the burden of having to deal with an uncontrollable, unpredictable, me. My rage has only become worse, and I know, if I stay, I’ll hurt someone, and I just cant bare, even the thought of that. I am truly sorry for the suffering I’ve caused you and your dad. I wasn’t ever meant to be a mother. I was never any good at it. Even as I sit here now I think about all the things I wish I’d done differently with you. I should have taught you things. I should have spent more time with you. I should have gotten out of bed all those mornings, to make you breakfast, to walk you to the bus stop. I should have helped you with your homework. I should have asked you about your day, more. I should have put my trouble aside, for you. You’re the only thing in my life that’s worth it. But I didn’t. (I am-selfish.)
I know it’s difficult to understand right now, but one day, maybe you will. Maybe you can forgive me. Maybe you can look out at the world and understand what its been like for me.
(Please remember), to always have faith in something bigger than your mind is capable of grasping. Please, never let it go.
I know that God loves me, that he’ll forgive me. So please never worry yourself with this. You are my greatest gift to the world. My last hope is that it doesn’t eat you alive. Your soul is pure, and a pure soul just doesn’t last long here.
Be as tough as you need to be, but always remember to love, and to always, without fail, forgive. -Momma

“All the soaring’s of my mind begin in my blood.” R.M. Rilke

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