I’m starting a new series here where I’m sharing old posts from past blogs and giving them new life. I published this in July 2015, just a few months after my mother’s cancer diagnosis. Rereading these words, almost three years later, is a surreal experience. And I wanted to share them.
“The Faucet Is Leaking”
The sink in the guest bathroom started dripping a few days ago. Or maybe weeks ago, but we didn’t notice till a few days ago, and in the middle of the night the pit, pat, plop of the drops hitting the stopper almost drives me mad. I decided putting a rag at the bottom of the sink was a favorable option for dulling the noise, but found that only amplified the sound, now hitting water, instead of metal.
My mind is a mess of leaky faucets and haphazard solutions. Yes, my Mom still has cancer. Yes, it’s still really hard and bad. And because of life, because of money, because of our own bills, and health problems, and commitments, I can’t drop everything and go be there. And that’s really, really hard. That’s the hardest.
I spent a whole year doing nothing and then my Mom gets cancer and I fill my life up with stuff to do because HALP, I NEED A PLACE TO RUN AWAY TO BECAUSE MY SADS ARE TRYING TO EAT ME. So, I’m filled absolutely to the brim, and the dripping and dropping in my mind drowns out the noise of all the, “Your mom is dying.”, but only just a little, and then it brings a whole new noise of, “You can’t fix this. Why do you even bother?”
Depression is a motherfucker and it’s a liar, but guys…I’m hurting. I’m hurting hard. And I really don’t want anyone to know/don’t know how to say it. I don’t know how to vocalize to my real life friends that HI, WHAT’S THAT OVER THERE? OH, JUST ME SOBBING AND SMOKING CIGARETTES AND OH, LOOK, HERE’S MY OLD FRIEND DEPRESSION TOO. I don’t know how to say that. I don’t know how to mouth out, “I’m sad.” Because all I hear is droplets hitting my brain, reminding me that I’m supposed to hold it together.
I can’t hold it together. I’m sad. I’m scared. And I’m overwhelmed.
And my Mom has cancer, and my husband is bipolar, and my daughter needs me to hold this shit together, and my friends got their own shit too, and my siblings have shit, and we all got shit, and how dare I unload MY shit onto THEIR shit wagon? We all gotta carry our own load. And I am trying but today it feels heavier than usual.
Or maybe I’m just now realizing it’s heavy. And the faucet is dripping. And I can’t actually do all the things. And that’s a pill I want to swallow, and I should swallow, but it’s tucked away in my cheek getting more and more bitter.
I need a hug. I desperately need a hug. I need someone to hug me and tell me it’s going to be okay. No one does that for me. I don’t think it’s because they don’t care. But, maybe because they can’t hear the dripping in my head. Maybe because I’m drowning out the sound by asking if they need a hug. And they do. Everyone does.
Even me. I need a hug. I need a good cry. I need a glass of wine and a meltdown and a Netflix marathon and a good book and a long bath, followed by more crying. I need this. But, it’s not an option right now. Or ever. I don’t know.
So, please, friends…please hug me when you see me. Please forgive me if I cry. Please overlook what I mess I’ve been. Please know I wish I could be better than I am. Please accept that I’m just not very strong right now.
My faucet is leaking. And I don’t have it in me to fix it right now. And I wouldn’t even know where to start if I could.