Self Expression Magazine

When Does It Stop

Posted on the 25 February 2020 by Littleredbek

Do you ever reach a point in life, where you wonder if it’s ever going to really change ? If you’re ever really going to awaken to a day when you find that happiness greets you first thing in the morning and tucks you in at night ?

I do… all the damn time. I wonder if I’ll ever be a decent enough person to stop ruining relationships left, right and center. I wonder if there will come a day when people choose to stay, willingly. A day when those who left, suddenly come back and all is forgiven.

I wonder if I will ever truly find a job that gives my fulfilment and satisfaction. Where I feel my voice is heard and warranted. Where it’s not just a show, a staged pantomime of how a young working woman should look and an actual portrayal of how a satisfied, fulfilled and valued employee does look.

I wonder if the demons in my head will give me a break. If I’ll always have to medicate and when the medication stops working, that a satisfactory replacement lasts longer than my marriage.

I wonder if the intermittent insomnia will disappear for good one day. Or if I will face a never ending battle of restless sleeps for weeks on end, followed by bouts of comatose drug induced recovery. I wonder if I’ll have to always have a spare bed on hand, for the nights when I worry about awaking my husband because I’m trying anything to join him in slumber.

I wonder at what point it is that I do finally give in. That they win, that she wins and I finally sleep the longest sleep. Because I always told myself, at least since I was seventeen – I almost cemented it in my mind that I would never make it to thirty. Then when I somehow gave up alcohol it looked like I had finally won, that I was no longer going to lose (or win) the battle against time. But now, a few months out, all I can do is reflect on how it all still feels so pointless. It doesn’t matter what job I have, what car I drive, what clothes I wear, what book I write or what life I pretend to be successfully living. It always comes back to this point.

I wonder how much more he can take of this, of me, of my chaos and mess. How much longer he’ll put up with my useless ovaries, my growing thighs and inconsistently shaved legs, washed hair and showered body. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better to just give him the freedom to find someone better because it genuinely wouldn’t take that long. But I know he’s too nice, too caring and too loving to give up on me just yet.

I always end up wondering why I am still breathing.

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