A Marriage In The Grey

I saw all of the windows open in my browser, and it was like watching an ice cream cone melt. The recipe for the chocolate babka I wanted to try. The pumpkin shaped hand-pies for a Halloween themed dinner.

My therapist’s appointment page.

Resources for single mothers.

A SNAP application.

Where do I even start?

My Search went from Cottage Bakery Tips, Best Places To Buy Cake Boxes, and Colorado LLC to Tips For Being A Single Mom, How To Co-parent, and Single Mom Groups Denver.

I’m existing in the grey area. A place that seems endless, like corn grown too high.

I do my best to busy my thoughts so that they don’t swallow me whole.

The time I’ll have to finish my book.

My cottage bakery I can still launch.

I can start exercising again and maybe my feet won’t hurt as bad.

Maybe I won’t be screaming in agony over a thrown out back at the ripe old age of 32.

I won’t have to compete with another person’s mental illness.

I won’t have to exhaust myself in the hopes my partner with be emotionally available to me if I take it all on.

I won’t have to wait.

My brain is a balloon.

Each anxiety-filled thought is a dull needle and I allow the thoughts to enter and stab at the balloon’s edges, letting myself explore the reality. After all, this IS reality. One that requires housing for both me and my children, stability, the already too-expensive formula. It’s the fact that we had to pull Scarlett from her school, her haven, one day a week, because I am unable to get her there. The reality is that my children will have two homes, the irony is that they both belong to someone else.

And then the inevitable happens. One of those dull needles is just sharp enough to pierce to balloon, and all of those intrusive thoughts seep in. I do my best to seal the hole as quickly as possible before I’m hunched over, sucking in air through an imaginary straw.

All those thoughts morph into one mega thought and the bottom line is-

What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing.

And then some variation(s).

Who the fuck do you think you are.

Are you out of your fucking mind.

My personal favorite-

You’ve got to be fucking joking.

Who do I think I am?

I think I’m a person that met the father of her children when she was broken.

That tried to initiate a relationship when she was broken.

Finally started a relationship while she was broken.

Broke a little bit more.

And then started acknowledging the cracks and began the process of repair.

5 years, 3 therapist, medications, mediations, breaks.

But how do you repair something that was broken to began with?

I don’t have an answer for that because I don’t know.

What I do know is that I tried. And when I was tired of trying, I tried some more. I tried until I started morphing into something I didn’t recognize. Something that goes beyond Small Sacrifices as we do for the people we love, and instead, If I Sacrifice It All Will You See Me Now.

Will you be proud? Will you help me? Will I impress you? Will you try harder? Will you promise? Will you be honest? Can I count on you?

The devastation I feel is insurmountable.

Will I really have to go back to cutting hair? Something I left and swore I wouldn’t go back to because I would make IT? Is that where I’ve arrived and who I’ve become? Will my children be in daycare, something I worked so hard to avoid?

Will I be able to pull this off? Is my actual life just around this next corner if I just...

Today’s Google search included how do you know you are making the right decision if you are this sad. The reality that I know, is that you can grieve things that no longer serve you. My reality is that I am no stranger to devastation. I guess I just wish we didn’t have to become fast friends again.