Home » Sunlight » A Bit of Sunlight – The Living Dead

A Bit of Sunlight – The Living Dead

I am heading to my in-laws cabin today.  It is in the middle of no-where so I will not be able to post my regular Sunlight post on Sunday so I thought I would do it now.  Plus, it seems a little depressing for a Sunday post.  

Here I am at the age of thirty-four and I am the living dead. I am in the bathroom. I am not sure how long I have been on the toilet or how many times I have wiped myself. I seem to keep slowly coming to the realization that I am done peeing and I reach for the toilet paper only to feel like I have done this already, and then I drift off again. How many times have I done this? I don’t search for an answer. I get up, flush and move on with my day; to lay on the floor in the living room.

I followed the path laid out to me. The path that others were on. The path that society told me to follow: I went to school; I got an education; I found a job; I got married; I bought a house; I had a baby; Then why did all of these perfect steps lead me to the carpet, struggling for each breath and feeling lost and without purpose?

I have been telling my husband when we go to bed at night that I am not sure why I am alive. I am so sad that I can not move during the day. I feel guilt for laying here but I can not get up and do anything meaningful.

“I don’t like you talking that way,” he would reply. It sounds like he is scolding me for feeling this way. His tone is sharp. He mentions to me that I should see someone, a counsellor or therapist. His work will cover the cost.

He comes home one day and tells me quietly, when Teela and I are in the sunporch finishing supper, “There are a lot of people here that need you and love you.”

I know he is talking about him and the girls but all I can think is that living for them is not enough. I have been living for them for so long and I don’t want to anymore. It is exhausting and draining me to my core.

It isn’t that I don’t love them. I do. I really do. But I have nothing more to give them. I can not cook supper for them. I can not pay attention to the words they say to me and the questions they ask of me. All I am is a shadow. If I give them much more of myself I will disappear. I don’t care about anything except for an answer as to why I am forced to get up and live this hell every day.

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