Only One

I've had about 30 hours of sleep in the last 36 (thank you Nyquil). The few hours I've been up, I've been lost. I took the Nyquil after deciding last night that I was going to commit suicide but then, using a tactic I've used before, told myself I would wait until tomorrow and if I still felt the same, I would do it then. As I lay down, restless, anxious, angry, hurt....I fantasized about ways to do it. I have a lot of pills I can take. I sometimes hoard them...."just in case." But I know from experience, that overdosing doesn't really work and best scenario you end up with smiley shoes on the fourth floor of some cold, God-forsaken hospital for three days until you say the right things to get out. So I thought of other ways, in addition to the pills. I thought of the order in which I would take the pills. I thought of ways to build a "tent" for carbon monoxide poisoning. Perhaps a bag over my head, too. I would close the bedroom door. Trevor would never know. Nobody would find me until I was gone. Maybe I'd use my old, illegal, beat up car and drive somewhere and hide. But then I thought maybe the cops would see me and pull me over. Then I'd really be screwed. I even tried to figure out ways I could smuggle in my meds in case I did get arrested but that wouldn't work either: The meds would need time to kick in, plus they'd find me before I could die. I fantasized about using a big black sharpie to write "DNR" all over my arms and chest and even my forehead. I figured I'd probably have to do it on paper and then trace it since doing it in the mirror could prove difficult.

Every purpose I had to live, is leaving or dying. My fault for putting purposes on people, instead of myself, most would say.

But most wouldn't know I am no purpose. I have no purpose. I know, I know....and I've heard it all. My existence alone, changes the world. Yada...yada...yada...

Appeasement does not work for me.

All the work I've done on myself has been so honest and intentional.

But for naught.

I still have my pills hidden. (I hid them in case my therapist instructed my friend to hide them from me). I still have not gotten them out. I still haven't entirely changed my mind.

I have therapy tomorrow.

I have almost nothing to say.

I am so numb. So, so numb.

Voiceless, wordless, needless.

Nothing. Obviously.

Haters welcome. I'm used to it.

The big story of the day is the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary school in Newtown. About an hour away from me. In sweet, sheltered Connecticut where there are perhaps - perhaps - three ghettos and even they have picket fences.

So much I want to say about this - so much is wrong and politically incorrect but here I am, feeling things. Feeling, for a change, and feeling terrible about what I feel. Such is life. At least, my life. Always.

A friend of mine said to me, "You are feeling the truth of how you were hurt babe. The truth can hurt but in the long run you are more real, more [Cristina]."

She is so right and feeling things makes every moment hurt. Makes every decision or choice, a matter of life or death. It changes everything.

So today, I thought - as a mother - how devastated and crushed I would be if any of my children suffered the same fate as those at Sandy Hook. As a mother, my heart ached for the pain of those parents and families who lost those children. I can't honestly fathom it and I'd be lying if I even pretended to come close to understanding how they must be feeling.

But then something else came bursting through. Obviously the political side of it. I was both ired and touched by the President's statement today as he wiped tears from his eyes. I was touched because I knew he - like me - was speaking as a parent.

However, despite the fact that I've voted for and loved him from the beginning, I was struck that we - he, no officials, no officers, no grief - is ever expressed over the thousands of children WE KILL EVERY DAY in senseless, needless war. I commented on the White House's status. A lot of people were angered by the number of "Gun control! Gun control!" shout-outs and political barraging but you know, I was pissed. "Shame on you people for using such a tragedy to spout your political grievances." Over and over people were chastised for saying what they thought and felt. Outrage and anger. But it's true! How many children do we kill as a country, every day, in the name of GREED, cleverly veiled by some need to restore democracy in some other country?

Religion and politics enter and everything goes awry, because God forbid, we disrespect the dead to point out some painful realities. (not that I'm for gun control, even though I've never owned one and don't suppose I ever will).

Anyway. That was number one.

Then, tonight, another panic attack. How bad I am. I'm bad. I can't tell people this! I can't utter these words! I can't say these things! People will hate me! I'm BAD for thinking these things....

But I couldn't help it.

I remember kindergarten. We had play time and we got different colored necklaces to wear, that directed which play areas we were allowed to play in. The purpose, I suppose, was to make sure every child got a fair share of the play time in different play areas. It smelled of crayons and Elmer's glue and construction paper.

It was also the only safe place I knew.

So I thought, today, about these kids and I thought about statistics and I thought about the pain I was going through in kindergarten, every night after I got home. I remembered hiding and wishing my kindergarten teacher would take me home with her. She was pretty and nice and good to me.

Of the 20 kids killed today, statistics tell us that one in three girls and one in six boys were either sexually abused or being sexually abused regularly. This is a life sentence. This is torture.

I thought - I  couldn't help it, I'm sorry - but I thought, "They are the lucky ones. Why couldn't that have happened to me?"

Of course, then I think of the state of our world and what our children are "learning" and how fucked up our education system is, even in high-dollar, elitist, too-expensive-to-live-in Connecticut and I think, again, "Yep they were the lucky ones."

Of course, that's not to diminish the grieving of the parents and families left behind. But the children that were killed - most call it a tragedy.

Some childlike, wounded, bleeding part of me cries, "It's a blessing. Why couldn't it have been me?"

Yes....that's how bad I am. I am a bad person.

So many people will hate this post.

But that's because they cling to God and say "evil visited this town today" (Governor Malloy) and say "it must have been God's will" (which is bullshit) because they just can't fathom that - guess what - mean people live here.

Period.

Has nothing to do with God, Pope, but thanks for the condolences.

Everyone asking for prayers. So habitual.

I wish someone had come into my classroom when I was in kindergarten and killed me.

I'm sure most who read this, will probably agree.