I hate Fridays

It is the feeling of being ripped away from that spot of hope looming in the distance, the spot where you wake up and realize that the past few months and years have been nothing but a horrible nightmare. You look around and you realize that the past was real but now you are safe at home, snuggled in a blanket. The air is still and you hear the sound of the dog snoring on the floor beside the chair you’re curled up in. This is your home. The home that you have made, the home you live in with your husband, your son, your daughter and your dog. But tonight those thoughts don’t bring you comfort so you turn your mind to the morning, knowing you’ll wake up and you will be okay. Everything seems better in the light of the day. The past is over, there is no longer a boogeyman to invade the protective bubble that surrounds you, and your children are sleeping soundly in their beds. If only you could let go and sleep…After awhile you give up and accept your impending demise. You begin to reach the point where you no longer care. The garbage that fills your mind now hinders your ability to focus on a task ~ most nights there is movie screen in your head – playing horror films that loop continuously ~ you search but you cannot find a way to stop the movie. You cover your face with your hands, trying to hide from the visions of the past. Sometimes there are tears, other times, anger. And always a feeling of confusion, the helplessness of being a stranger in your own body, unable to pull yourself out of your unwilling host and scream for help. Help me! Help! This is not me! I am hurting. Do you see this smile? It is not me – it’s all an act. I am not perfect ~ I am not innocent ~ I am afraid to be alone. And although this happens night after night you never find the strength to make it out. You keep falling, you keep changing into this unrecognizable person you weren’t meant to be.

That is how I feel. That is my story, my life. Each “you” is really “me”. I can cover up these feelings for awhile, pacify them with medications and relaxation techniques but I always come back to “this”. These moments when I feel hopeless and shameful for all that has happened lead to the realization that I am alone in this ~ this is all up to me, no one else.

Friday nights are difficult for me, more difficult than most. I know why and I recognize the triggers now, but recognizing and being able to change something are quite different. So once again, this Friday night, everyone is in bed, the dog is curled at my sleep and the only sound I hear is the ticking of the clock soft hum of the dishwasher – and despite the medication, the relaxation tools – I am once again, curled up in my favorite chair, wrapped up in my baby blue security blanket, the familiar lump in my throat taunting me, tempting me cry, to let go of the control. But I do not give in~ I do not dare cross that line. Because I know that once I cross that line I will not turn back. Although my eyes are watering and my stomach is churning, I will not listen to her voice….I will find a way to hide from her until morning, until the light breaks through the darkness, bringing with it a new day, and with the new day, comes hope.