I wish there were a way to put
to words and adequately describe this feeling. I am(not) fully in
control. My mind is bereft. I should be tired, I suppose, my
schedule has been jarred, I have been financially accosted, and now I
find myself overwhelmed, faced with a tough series of circumstances,
with narrow, but very feasible margins for success. I have been
living in this too close for comfort, no safety, place for too many
years. I shield my son, yet here I am at one thirty AM, I could no
sooner sleep, than rest, or feel good about myself or anything around
me. I know I will get by, I know there is a way for me to have
success. However my other options are radically and tragically,
diminishing. I am lonely, intensely so, yet could no sooner tolerate
another entity in my sphere than properly show that love that I have
dabbled successfully with in the past. It's like a coil inside that
slowly becomes more assertive. You can't stop it, but it doesn't
have everything yet, and despite considerable levels of
resourcefulness there is a distinct possibility that control and
normalcy will get less and less frequent, and I have no idea what
that will look or feel like.
I realistically probably need
help, but my day to day life is such an intense balancing act of
ability, inability, careful discipline, and pitfalls of apathy that
the act of getting help would cause considerable stress to a system
that can't handle much more. I need to increase stability before I
can get help, which may not be realistic without getting help. The
problem with my insanity is that I am generally reasonably sound. I
know my capabilities, I am good about time management, and can
mitigate financial and unexpected issues fairly well. The illness,
the poison; is the isolation, social dysfunction, and distrust that
continues to eliminate options for me.
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