#3601 ·
Linda Baker51 said:And now something completely different… I don’t think a single day goes by without me reading your posts, our posts. Sometimes I start typing, sometimes I get halfway through, and sometimes I can’t even finish half a sentence before I just give up... most of you don't know "our story"; it started so long ago that even I barely remember the beginning. I know I'm exhausted, totally drained... I know I've had enough of the waiting, the fear every time the phone rings at some ungodly hour... I can't handle the uncertainty anymore, I just can't... I'm worn out by everything—the fears, the hopes, the anticipation, all of it... I just want to live without a care in the world. I want to stop seeing sick people, stop hearing the moans of pain; I want it so badly that I catch myself thinking I don't even want to live anymore, just so I can feel peace, ease... I want to dedicate myself to my own life. You probably think I'm being a selfish bitch, but honestly, after eight years, I'm giving myself permission to feel this way, to wish for it... my own life, my best years passing me by without a fight... I don't feel the need to keep giving myself away like this anymore... I want my youth back; is that so wrong of me? Is it abnormal? I want to spend my afternoons and weekends on myself, with my friends, doing things that actually make me happy, finding the kind of love that hasn't entered my life since this illness arrived... I just want this whole damn thing to be over... one way or another... I simply can't do it anymore, I just can't... I can't carry this burden alone, I just can't... I'm disgusted by everything... I'm sick of it all... I feel like a half-inflated or deflated balloon that doesn't even have the strength left to pop... and here is my biggest confession: I've started to resent her for being sick. Yes, that's it... I've even allowed myself that much... I know, I'm a horrible person, but I just can't help it... and please, don't come at me with all that talk about how she isn't to blame, or how I have to stay strong, or how much I've endured over these years—I know all of that, I am fully aware, but I just can't... frankly, I don't even feel like trying anymore... can you imagine that?
Honey, "carefreeness" is an ideal we made up; it doesn't exist.
Before her illness, there was that time, wasn't there? And then brutal reality hit and the realization set in that something wasn't right.
The truth is, things are never truly okay. That's the realization I reached when I went through exactly what you're going through now. Things happen, but in between those events, you live life with full lungs, pursuing everything you want and need, and no, that isn't selfish. In fact, the way you feel exhausted and half-dead right now is a direct product of the circumstances you've been dealt. Sweetie, today we walk around happy and cheerful, grabbing coffee with friends, and tomorrow we might not have to. There were people who came to visit my mother, thinking they were coming to say goodbye to her, but in the end, it turned out she was the one saying goodbye to them—they passed away suddenly before she did.
It's been five years now since my old woman has been gone; everything stopped. And yes, I wished for her to finally pass away too; I couldn't take it anymore. Every morning I woke up with one thought: "How much longer, Lord? Why all of this, why this kind of life for her and for me..." ...and now she's been gone for five years, she's gone, and it still hurts terribly to think about how it all happened. Even after she died, I had that period where I thought maybe I'd finally have some peace, but then came new phone calls, new bullshit, and big stuff at that... that's life. And since life has a way of throwing a wrench in your plans, don't go making it harder on yourself. Do whatever you need to do, without apology. If you can't do it anymore, don't. Just don't. Grab every hour you can and make them yours.
To be honest, I don't think I'll ever find that spark again. What I miss most isn't just happiness—it's that sense of total, carefree lightness, and losing that is what really cuts deep. Don't get me wrong, I love my child and I show up for them, but that inner joy I used to carry? It's gone. Life's unfairness and the sheer weight of the pain I've endured just crushed it. I’m terrified that since my child didn't bring it back to me, it’s gone for good. I feel like I'm living as a fraction of the person I used to be, and because of that, my husband will never truly know the whole version of me. Maybe the fault lies with me; maybe I lost it because I didn't take care of myself enough, or because I spent so much energy fighting against universal truths that you simply have to accept if you ever want to move forward with your life.