When the Sword is Too Heavy...

This was a long time ago...before my brother died, before I became a mother, before breast cancer. How I wanted to be strong enough to lift that sword...

As much as I hate to admit it, I still occasionally have my whiny “poor me” days. Today is definitely one of them. Sometimes it’s so hard not to just scream and smash things and rant about how unfair it is that after all the shit I’ve been through…I’m still struggling. I’m still scrounging and scraping and clawing to survive and now I’m doing it without a partner. Part of me wants to bust into the office of the CEO in charge of life and the world and demand a reasonable accommodation. Hell, how about a big fat pay raise? I’ve battled, bled, grieved and at times I’ve even starved. Let me tell you; there are no tears that flow more bitterly than the ones brought by hunger. Well, at least not in my experience. Hm. I’m not sure I’ve ever shared that before. There is something about going hungry that has some sort of shame attached to it.

I am not sharing this to elicit sympathy. I am sharing it because I’m hoping that by admitting to it, I can rid myself of the self-pity and guilt that comes with it. I don’t feel it every day but sometimes I’m just not strong enough to keep it at bay. I suppose this is okay. I mean it makes me human right? It makes me stop and talk myself down or write a blog. It makes me want to go back in time and pick up that enormous claymore and scream my way into the fray with primal blood-lust and the sort of madness a person sometimes needs to stay alive. Only now there is no field of battered bodies. There is no claymore. However there is that mad lust for survival. There is that mad desire to violently tear down the walls of this unsavory reality and stand atop its rubble bleeding, scarred, and triumphant.

So I guess tonight as I am feeling alone and lost while my daughter is at her father’s house, I can at least be glad that there is a plate of warm and delicious food waiting to fill my belly. As I fight of the self-beating that threatens over doing something incredibly stupid earlier today, I will use the things I’ve done right to guide me through this darkness. I will hold onto the knowledge that Violet will be coming home on Friday and I can hold and kiss her until my heart bursts with blissful love. It’s her. She gives me strength and I won’t stop until I am every last bit the mother she needs and deserves. I won’t stop. Ever. It’s a lonely road right now and I am tired, so very tired but I am also stronger and more determined. I will not let this win.