Wearyness

I come here to write when nothing makes sense. When my world is swirling like a chocolate-vanilla cone, except deliciousness is not waiting for me at the end—just confusion. A sour taste in my belly. 

Yesterday, I left church early. Ants had found me and were swarming over my feet, in my shoes, up my beige plastic chair legs, and on the seat where I sat. I scurried faster than they to the sidewalk, vigorously thumped each shoe on the cement, then flicked off the persistent ones. I decided I couldn't manage it anymore, so my longsuffering husband took our chairs and we went home. It was not a good day. 

Some parts of days are good. Like our spontaneous falafel-and-sea adventure Friday afternoon where we sat on giant rocks and savoured perfectly moist-crunchy sandwiches as we watched fishermen throw out for a bite. But to reach the perfect rock, I had a mini meltdown because I was wearing flipflops, not gymshoes, and the cracks between the rocks scared me. I couldn't manage it. Just like most days when I cannot manage life. 

I slept most of Saturday afternoon. I cried most of today. The tears are always there. Uncertainty. Fear. Worry. Anxiety. Nervousness. Stress. Anger. Pain. Inadequacy. 

I don't like most parts of my life. Work. The community. The geographic location and all its pieces that don't make sense to my German mind. 

So I write. I eat. Most days I play Sudoku, scroll through Telegram and Twitter and Facebook, read the news headlines, or sit and stare at the wall. When I'm at work, I cry, I try to focus my mind to manage the full-time job in part-time hours, I prioritize, and I lock my door so I can teach in peace and quiet. And I eat. 

The child I will never have symbolically sits forever under my chin—a full stomach. An ugly stomach. A reminder of everything I am not and will never be. I will never be a mother. I will never be beautiful. I will never be slim. I will never be enough. 

So how do I feel? Unlike the children's song that repeats, I feel all right, I do not. I feel lost. I feel alone. I feel sad. And most of all I feel hopeless. I've lost my song and I don't know if I can ever find it again. So I struggle on. Because in the end, that is all one can do, really. Struggle on and hope that one day, somehow, there will be light. Or the end. Whichever comes first.