Not forever. Not to be saved. Not to be sheltered. Not to be controlled or limited. But just to know that for once I am safe in not taking care of every single need while putting on a smile. Because even my worries, expresses out loud, only invoke responses of, “Are you ok?” But never, “You can rest your burden here.”
What I want is to not have to say words. To lay name to every need and squeak in order to get greased.
When your needs are never met as a child, you become hyper vigilant for danger. You raise yourself. A baby raising a baby. I don’t do the best by myself.
I need a grown up. Or at least someone to hold my hand.
Seventy days may seem like nothing. But these last hours feel like they might be the death of me.
Just get me to the plane. Get me in that seat. Drag me from the airport. And with my last ounce of strength, I will crawl into my bed.
I feel like no one understands.
One day I will look back and say, “That was a challenge.” But right now, I just want to leave mascara streaked tears on the front of someone’s shirt who understands. Whose arms are long enough to reach around me.
I’m so very tired. And who could ever understand this lonely feeling I have? It isn’t borne of physical distance but from the lack of kindred who get what it is to never have a break from tending the fire. To know more than others is to constantly feel alone.
I’m going to watch The Sopranos…all of them. And by the time this over I expect to wake up and everything will be fine.
Because I always feel like I have the weight on my shoulders of a Tony Soprano. And all I want to be is a Carmela.
I just want to be the supporting character who takes care of the boss.