I’m not emo, I promise…

I was driving home the other day and a brief thought swished through my brain…


“What if I just gave up?”

Not suicide or anything awful like that, just… Give up. Give in to the constant pain. Quit my job and stay in bed zonked out on muscle relaxants and get food stamps and Medicaid and let The Zen Master handle the teenage angst and toddler frenzy. Let someone else deal with the bills and the housework and the cooking. Just… Let it all go.


I get it. I get why people apply for disability when, on the surface, they look just fine. I get why sometimes, you just can’t do it anymore, that the pain becomes a full time job that pushes aside everything else in your life. I get that it’s hard to be a nurturing mom when every time your children hug you it feels like you’re being run over by an 18-wheeler. I get that your marriage is strained because the idea of any physical contact more than a brief kiss makes you literally cringe. So yeah. The thought crossed my mind. And ever so briefly, it felt like I could escape. But just as quickly, I realized that this is not something to escape. It’s there, it will be there and sometimes, like now, it will be bad. But it isn’t me. And I’m not going to be a martyr. I’m just going to deal. Because that’s what I do.



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