I feel the Wonder setting in
Over where I’m going and where I’ve been
And by the way when I kneel to pray
It never seems You’re there.
And I’ll admit that I do not try
When it’s easier to sit down and cry
I’m so full of doubt
Wanna let it out
Let it out all over you
There was a time when I could search my diary, the one that spanned a decade, for the song “Circle of Error” by Sixpence None the Richer. I could search and see it repeated over and over through the years. The lyrics hardly mattering anymore. It was a mark of my depression.
A cycle.
I used to search for it and look for the pattern. A set amount of time? A certain period of life?
But now I see it’s not one thing that brings me back here. It’s the long slow series of disappointments. Of trying and failing again and again.
I’m running things into the ground
All the truth I am seeking has not been found
And I am weak
All the words I speak bring no passion anymore
And will I try for happiness in the midst of all this emptiness
All I want is you
If I only knew
How to get up off this floor
You could say he is the sun and the moon. He tells me when to rise and when to sleep. But more accurately he is my clockwork. The one who winds the key. Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, Snacks, he keeps me ticking on a track.
I open my pantry and I see the giant tupperware of raisins which sits half empty and my heart aches for the simple task of keeping it full for him. Life makes sense when he is here. Simple truths like “We always need raisins.”
So what.
So what.
So my clock runs down.
On my circle of error
I go round and round
On my circle of error
I go round and round again
I sometimes feel like my depression is a sham.
A Christian shouldn’t have depression.
A woman who has been blessed with her deepest longing - a miracle pregnancy - should not be depressed.
Anyone with the amazing luck to have THIS boy for a child should not have depression.
And maybe it’s not even really depression because
Because of all these things there is always hope.
The light in the dark.
But hope doesn’t clean the floors.
Hope doesn’t cook healthy food.
Hope certainly doesn’t do the dishes.
Hope just keeps you moving forward one more day.
Survial.
On my circle of error
I go round and round
On my circle of error
I go round and round again
I often wonder what is the point.
Technology. the internet. facebook.
The lie that tells me I have connection when really I am all alone.
What is the point? What is the point of this?
Fake friendships.
Out there. blown in the ether.
So what.
No one will come and say “Good God, Isha your house is a wreck. Let me take this trash out for you.
No one will say “You look tired, can I take the boy to the park for an hour?”
No one ever has.
No one ever will.
That sort of friendship does not exist.
Not for me.
And it’s fine and it works and it makes sense when he is there to wind the clock.
To take the trash, and the boy to the park.
He is my friendship.
With him I’m okay.
Stronger than I know and braver than I think.
But he needs more.
He needs more.
He needs the fire and the freedom. The danger and the brotherhood.
I get it. I do. I suffered the years with him, without it.
Purpose.
But where is my sisterhood?
It’s not real.
It’s an illusion.
It’s online and far away.
It can’t help me here.
And I thought I could find it.
I thought I could forge it.
Bravely, boldly, this introvert set out to make friends.
But I’m the only one who ever calls.
The only one who collects phone numbers
The only one asking for company
And you can only ask so many times before it all feels moot.
It’s halfway through fire season.
What is the point of befriending me now? Someone with no intention of staying through the long Winter.
I think that was my mistake. I lied to the midwives about giving birth here, I should have lied to them all. Maybe if they thought I was staying they would have thought me worth the while.
Maybe.
But maybe not.
Maybe not.
I haven’t been worth the while for a long, long time.
Loading comments...