I burst into tears this morning because I couldn’t open the screw top to pour syrup on my son’s waffles.
Yes. Syrup made me cry.
In a flash, I was flooded with emotions, which I promptly squelched, and resumed my task of getting that damn top off.
But wait! Are those the feelings I’m supposed to feel?
What were they?
I struggle to unravel the thread of the fabric I only caught a glimpse of.
Sadness. I’m alone. No one is here to help me. I’ve chased away love.
Shame. For making myself the victim. I know better.
Anger. My fucking parents and their insanely dysfunctional household of terror, 45 years later and I’m crying over syrup.
Fear. What if this is it? What if I’m destined to be alone? What if 3 strikes and you are out?
Nausea. Ok not an emotion, still very present.
The headache is back. My brain hurts.
My son asked me why I was crying. I didn’t even know I was.
Why am I so rigid? I sit here and scold myself for all of the things I should be doing better.
I’m on the precipice.
I will keep going.
I hope I don’t drown.