Missing Isn’t Gone; But I’m Not Here


     Every day I check the daily prompt hoping for the day’s word to inspire me or to connect with it in some way.  Today’s prompt is “missing,” and I don’t think there’s a word I can connect with more right now.

     I’ve spent the last 5+ years trying to come to terms with my “new” self and it hasn’t been the least bit easy.  Aside from that, I’m 33 and my age is finally starting to show.  I think waiting for multiple gray hairs to form a full on streak is making me age quicker.  The worry, the fear…the loss of youth, it all builds and it’s so not pretty that all I can do is wait and see how I’ll look as an old person while ignoring the reality that it’s happening.

     I’ve been battling depression more and more every day, and recently I found out some terrible news so awful and embarrassing that I can’t bring myself to blog about it.  That’s disturbing because that’s precisely why my blog(s) are anon.  I just can’t…blogging about it will mean facing some pretty ugly facts about my current situation and I don’t think I can handle that semi-publicly right now.

    I don’t feel like I’m missing out; I feel like I’m missing

     I knew from an early age that my life would not go however I wanted it to.  I’ve been through a lot.  Rape, abuse, homelessness, heartbreak, disease, mental breakdowns, drug use, suicidal  patches…a stroke, brain surgery, financial insecurity, chronic health issues.  I’m nowhere near where I hoped to be by this age.  I’m no longer who I was when I thought I could be somebody.  That person is so far removed from all levels and states of my consciousness that I’m….I’m missing.  I’m lost and I don’t think I can ever come back.

     While taking my shower this morning, I started to wonder if I should leave town for a few weeks or months.  I’m just not into life right now, in any capacity.  I asked myself if I could really leave my kids behind.  Do I really need a “break” that badly? Yes; yes I do.  I started to fantasize what it would be like to go visit mom in New England; then I started to consider suicide.  I can’t imagine what leaving would accomplish so why not just end it?  I started to think of the obvious: not being successful because I fail at everything; why would suicide be any different?  I’d have to face the fact that everyone would know how much I hate my life and myself, and I’d have to face questions and try to find answers for people who claim they love me when I know they really don’t.


     Then I’d have pieces to pick up and I can’t imagine myself not only finding them all when I feel like so much of myself is already missing, but would I really want to bother with the process of gluing myself back together? I know I’m going to be full of gaps for cold breezes to sweep through, continually disrupting what little progress in life I can make.  Will it be worth it?  I don’t feel like it could be.

     I’m missing and I don’t have the energy to find myself

     I’m having trouble writing, reading, painting, drawing…watching a whole fucking movie for once.  I can’t focus on a daydream long enough to make it worth keeping.  Everything in my head turns negative.   I just don’t know who.I.am.

     It’s not that I don’t know who I am as a mother, a wife, sister, daughter, aunt…whatever.  But who the fuck am I?  I don’t know myself any more than you know me.  I know who I used to be, what I used to like and want, crave and need.  I don’t really want anything now.  I feel like I crave a lot and need a lot but these things have no names, features, distinct tastes, or anything.  Everything about me is completely unidentifiable…or missing.  I’m missing and I don’t think I want anyone to notice.  I think I just kind of want to fade away but I know that’s not possible.

     I don’t know how to make it so I’m no longer missing.  I don’t know how to collect myself again.  I don’t know how to go about finding the right tools to locate myself.  I don’t know how to move forward without lugging around these trash bags full of…my trash.  What if the pieces I’m missing are in those bags?  What if I threw away parts of myself in hopes of starting over, totally forgetting that it’s nearly impossible to actually start over?

How does one find one’s missing self?

       Clearly, I have no answer for this.  I tried asking myself:

If there was any one day, event, or decision to change or take back that you think would put you on a path you would best prefer, what would that one “thing” be?

     I had zero answers. I told Kasper a few weeks ago I wished mom never made me move to Texas.  He went on that whole “but we never would have met…what about our kids” type bullshit and I just wanted to yell: So?

     I love my kids, I’d throw myself in front of a train for them; but, if I never came to Texas and never met Kasper, thus never having them, I wouldn’t know to miss them and how could that be bad?  I wouldn’t know Kasper and that wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.  He’s a great guy, sure, okay…but there are other great guys and if I never met any of those I’m not sure I’d feel as lonely as I do today, did yesterday, or will tomorrow.

     I’m missing and I’m tired of not only feeling that way, but also having people try to persuade me with facts of today that “it’s worth it” because it’s not.  If I feel rotten and broken inside, your “but what about” is not going to make me feel better, improve my situation, or make me change because you made a good point.  I am rotten and broken inside and I wish my fighting to learn to live with it could be as acknowledged as my selfishness surrounding it.

I’m missing

     What’s really sad is that I feel like I’m missing while wondering if knowing who and where I am would be any better.  Somehow, I think it would be worse.  At least, in this position, I can still look like I’m moving forward.  That’s what I feel will be the rest of my life: faking it, pretending I still have a chance to make it.


via Daily Prompt: Missing


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