And You Thought I was Tough

I'm scared.

I feel better getting that off of my chest. What am I so afraid of? Well, chickens, *obviously*.

Ok seriously.

I'm afraid of wolves. And fog. Carnie folk. And becoming my mother. And failure.

But mostly, I am afraid of being forgotten.

And no, I don't mean being left behind at the grocery store, although that was a legitimate fear once while out shopping with friends and I had to go destroy a toilet (it was day two of a softball tournement, stop judging me) and they all assumed I was with somebody else and they all left the building. Without me. But that's another story for another time.

I don't want you to forget me. You know, when I'm gone. Don't worry, geez, I'm not going anywhere yet, not for a long time. But it does bother me sometimes. Every time I encounter death, which unfortunately in my line of work happens a lot, I am always thrown into a tailspin when I realize that nothing stands still for that.

Life goes on. People are still eating, working, sleeping, *living*. Because they must. Really. I know this. But here's the thing - totally unacceptable. If I die young, I fully expect the universe to at least tilt or something. So the least you people could do is, show some *respect*, damnit.

Like stay in bed. If you are forced to go out, wear black or don't get dressed at all. Don't eat anything you like for at least 24 hours. Especially if it is something *I* like to eat, it is forbidden. So no olives. No feta. No pickled fish. Please *do* take a shower but you better not look happy about it. You can listen to music as long as it is a continuous loop of "Blue Eyes Cryin in the Rain" by Willie Nelson. Don't do things I despise, like shopping(I'm not kidding) or anything to do with Hannah Montana.

You are allowed to cry. Publicly. In fact, inconsolably would be a nice touch. Public displays of devotion are always appreciated. At this point in time, I have no idea what I want to be remembered for, but I will get back to you on that. I still have time to figure it out and become great at something (besides an awesomely fierce Chuck Norris-style zombie slayer). I don't think a national day of mourning (a week would be even better) is too much to ask.

Ok. For reals now. I want the most kick-ass party you've ever had, because that's what I would *really* do. I want everyone to sing karaoke, eat brisket and take turns with the potato gun.

After all, we can't *all* be rockstars, but I damn well expect you to act like one.

P.S. I love you

summer is gone

The damp,sticky heat and the deep green leaves on the birches are gone. The long, lazy afternoons watching the hummingbirds feed and listening to the buzz of the bees in the raspberry bushes are gone. And something is wrong with me.
I never know why or when it happens. It has been a part of my makeup ever since I can remember. The sadness I feel is indescribable. At the mere mention of something out of the ordinary the panic begins to thicken in my throat and there is no where for me to go, no where for me to escape the anxiety I feel for such a trivial thing. I want to cry, I want to scream, but none of these emotions will come. I no longer find any pleasure in things that I love, and I want to, it just isnt there.
I want to say this is all caused by the monumental stress in my life. But I have always survived monumental stress, since I was born, I have lived with the fear of rejection, the fear of punishment, the fear of being lost, the fear of being abandoned... the list could go on and on. So why now, as an educated adult, are these fears paralyzing me?
I wish I knew.
The greatest fear of all is that this is something that will eventually take over me, and I will have no control. I struggle every day for control. I force myself to get up for a job that I love, because I cannot bear the thought of another day or going through the motions and no miracle will happen. I long for a miracle. Not a big one. Just something that will let me know, "you are needed here," or "you are wanted here," so I have a reason to be there.
Because right now the only reason I have for being here at all is my two beautiful children. They are the reason I go to work, to feed and clothe them. They are the reason I wake up, to see their smiles. They are the reason I go to soccer,and Cinderella auditions,and Girl Scouts and t-ball.
My anxiety is,will I always be here? whatwill happen if I do not stay in remission? It is very easy for those who have never been there to say, dont think like that, but unless you have been in my shoes, dont tell me what or how to rationalize.
They will go on without me and they will live amazing, wonderful productive lives. They may even get a new mommy who is wonderful and kind and loves them as much as any new mommy ever could.
But they would be doing it without me. And that's what makes me cry.