I sit in my car clutching the car steering wheel in my driveway and cry convulsively.
I want to drive and not come back.
Mentally I shame and discredit myself when I examine the things I have said.
The guilt is paralyzing.
I want to ESCAPE.
How disturbing to resign from life and household responsibilities like that?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Why do I visualize this?
I have to find the courage to NOT drive away.
To aspire and move forward despite the emotional pain.
To do better.
I want to drive and ESCAPE…no…no…
I need a helping hand.
It is frightening to seek help and be vulnerable.
To be Honest, Open & Willing.
But I must.
Because I have little ones who depend on me….
Because it is the RIGHT thing to do ….
Because I could not live without them.
I love them.
I want to ESCAPE WITH them.
That is it.
Away from the stress and daily hum drum.
ESCAPE from the ‘need to do’s’ and ‘cannot affords’.
ESCAPE from the barking, ringing, driving, cooking, cleaning, washing, bathing, reminding, decision making, mistakes…
I can smell the coal in the air as I walk the beach in Dominion, Cape Breton.
I can feel the warm sand between my toes.
I grab some sea weed and begin to break it up in tiny little pieces as I walk along the beach and I think of my grandfather.
My ‘Poppy’ who was wheelchair bound after a coal mining accident.
My ‘Poppy’ who was full of stories while I ate peppermints off his bedside table.
I hear the seagulls and the crashing waves….
I open my eyes, unclench the steering wheel, and watch as my baby boy jumps up and down outside the car window.
Knocking on the glass with his Harry Potter sword.
I smile, dry my tears, and take a deep breath.
My ‘time-out’ is over.
My ESCAPE is over.
I let go of the wheel and listlessly open the door.
I look at my little man and smile.
My heart breaks and weighs heavy in this senseless dark sadness of a depressive mood.
I smile and remember my brief ESCAPE to the beach on the Island.
I remember Poppy’s CB radio, the candy, and the Little Green Man.
Thank you Poppy for the helping hand of memories.