Pick your poison

Eat shitty food, drink as much as you’d like, try drugs. Hell just go with any addiction, follow the rabbit hole as much as you’d like. Between that or Covid or any one of many other diseases you’ll likely die younger.

Or eat clean, get exercise, take meticulous care of yourself. You’ll be a little sore from exercise, but generally feel better and get sick less. But you’ll live till you’re 90 or more and have to put up with the myriad of people wanting to play negative-ninny and chicken-little sky-is-falling for the entirety of your life, and if you’re like me that means you’ll feel an aweful lot of it emotionally or in your body. It also means that by the time you’re 40 you’ll be jaded and cynical too.

But there’s always the contingent that Billy Joel sung of: only the good die young. We still have innocent toddlers keeling over from cancers and lukemias, food poisoning, environmental toxin exposure, and we still have people of every age that die in accidents sometimes caused purely by mechanical failure.

But hey if we scare each other to death over Covid then we can look back and say, it worked it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. You’re right, it wasn’t from the start. It still isn’t.

If we argue over everything and take “responsibility” where it was never intended then we can convince ourselves we did the right thing, even though shit still sucks in other ways even worse than before.

But hey, I’m just one drowning woman who woke up with a numb arm, and when I got to work discovered it wasn’t really even my ailment.

I do everything for everyone, want to fix things so much that I feel everyone’s problems. I thought God was supporting me, but really I have just been getting enough support to keep working hard, keep trudging, keep trying. Waiting for Godot. My problems always take the back seat and never truly resolve, none of them, and no one else gives a damn about that. But I’m still there for everyone that pretends to care. I’m still there for my chosen family and kids that really do care. I manage to tread enough water that I’m no longer threatening to crash my car into a pylon at 100mph. No, now I stay afloat enough that I know for certain I am maintaining things as best as I humanly can, and most days it’s far better than most other people, but not enough to solve my problems completely.

So I’m left with, why keep trying? Why not go with plan A? It’ll guarantee a shorter life. Or why not Plan D: calculatedly take myself out with a minimum of mess and impact to others? If nothing in my universe can completely resolve while I’m alive, and I am bound to tread water for as many years as I live, then I could make that short and sweet. I can make that choice.

And there’s very little stopping me.

I find it funny how suicide is ALWAYS dissuaded by “think of your family” “think of others”. Why is it never about: “how can we help you solve this situation in another way?” And depression medication never solves the life-long components outside of your brain or body. Never. That’s why my puzzle is failing me now when it has worked for so long, it still just deals with body chemistry and does nothing for external factors.

I also love how gun owners think they are the schnizz, right up until a mass shooting or someone using them to take their own life. That’s what guns are for, killing, why does it suddenly become not okay because one used it on a crowd or another used it on themselves. For me it’s a tool to reach an end. I’m not God, so I’d never use it on any other human being, and thus don’t own one. But being that this situation is between me and God, I’m okay with the last word being my life ending. It’s not like I have anything to believe otherwise. I have waited for Godot for 35 years. I have no evidence, none, to support anything actually changing for me solidly, for good, for permanent. God has known for a while now that I’m over the cat-and-mouse game, I’m over being used for others gain and never seeing my rewards. I have run out of fucks to give, and now have an awareness of a shotgun that is easily accessible. It’s very tempting.

Nathan says I have muscle memory from this time previous years. It’s because every fall/winter since early childhood has felt this way. When I was small it was my parents battling poverty when everything was due and presents were expected. Now it’s so ingrained in me, it just repeats all on it’s own, despite my best efforts otherwise. The broken record of my brain involuntary recreating things that I’ve been trying like mad to escape via meditation and my puzzle.

Where’s the answer to my prayers now? I’ve been the answer for other people’s prayers, but mine is sorely missing. Where’s my brain and body healing that I’ve been striving for these last 7 years.

I’m over it.

Not even writing a blessing this time, doesn’t seem to matter anyway.

About Treasa Cailleach

I'm a massage therapist working with chiropractic and the elderly; musician, artist, pagan, mom, B of LGBTQ, & polyamorous professional.

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