The Red Door.

Razorblades.

“She has no mouth because she speaks from the heart, she has no mouth because she speaks from the heart.” This keeps going through my head as I hold my stuffed hello kitty and sway back and forth. I think about the relevance of me and my hello kitty as I am beginning the cycle of spinning everywhere and nowhere. I start thinking first and foremost why I am in the shape that I am in mentally at this particular moment. What was the tipper this time to un balance my already shaky core? Sparrow and I were having a relaxing-but not- afternoon of absolute nothingness. Napping, baking and then the you wanna get rich really fucking fast bet every time that this hands down was the worst conversation for me and Sparrow to be having. WORK, and then some. The “then some” is what this time scared the bejesus out of me, flash forward to my hello kitty moments of comfort and madness. During this strange time that Sparrow and I are in we have this small window of opportunity to be enjoying ourselves, being not “so” worried about the next step just taking this in to be together. How often does any couple have unlimited time for the moment to just be? Sparrow calls this “once in a lifetime.” We are amazing, this cemented any doubt, if there ever were any, that this is the man for me to be with for the rest of my life. Under the same roof all day, everyday, no fighting just love … Sparrow, I love my Sparrow. So it began, he said “I have to get tires put on the car for the winter they are bald. Shit, that is my unemployment check, who knew fucking tires were that much?”. Me, “We totally are living out of out means aren’t we? tires aside.” Sparrow starts in on we are ok for a month then things will be hard, “I am making considerably less, I have to do the math.” I am getting very twitchy, quite and agitated. Then I start about work and in my tone, “There is no fucking way that we are not going to pay the mortgage.” I have my shitty ass card and I will play my last hand. Logically it is the best decision, how many people can do that job? Go in when they want and make whatever it is that your heart desires and go back, not go back when ever you want? I am very matter of fact with this. “ITS ALL ABOUT THE MONEY”. Sparrow, “Its all about me and not being able to handle this, I love you.” So we go in these circles that always seem to be imprinted into our conversations “you say it’s not an option for you, it will always be your option.” I sat on this for a little bit and little did he know that this is what I think of everyday. This one option though it may not be all encompassing anymore as it use to be, the idea of teasing men has lost its thriving boost of control and seduction. But it does not mean that I can not flip a switch and just go do it. And do it better than the time before. It’s like I am out the door, the big fucking red door and just a strand of hair is a millisecond to late and it gets caught and I get sucked back in and swallowed deeper then before. I never, ever seem to make it out. I know this. I am paralyzed on the bed as I get almost every few days. And I speak to him from my heart the absolute honest truth. “I don’t think I will ever be able to get better until I know that there is no financial worry”. I can not believe that this came out of my mouth, one thing to think it but another to say it. I hate that I need to be taken care of. I hate being so debilitated with anxiety and unrealistic fears and expectations. I hate that this job gave me the illusion that I was really was able to take care of myself, it made me seem independent for a short while all while my mental illness and fragility just progressed. I never could look ahead because I had always given myself a least a year of grace before having to worry about anything real. Everything is real and nothing is real.

-ApplejAxe

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~ by applejaxe on January 21, 2012.

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