It's been a while.
Quite a stretch in fact. I thinks its been at least 16.8 years.
I think its time I write my will again.
was in a dark place the last time I wrote one. Similar spot this time too. Too darn familiar. Soul sucking, spirit shattering damp dark end of the rope familiar.
My life feels like its ran out.
Not coasting to a quiet stop. No. Nothing that simple or easy. More along the lines of the brakes have failed and I am careening down a hill, being tossed around unmercifully. The windows shattering are barely drowning out the last of my will to go on being smothered.
I am dissociated to a point I'm not even in my body any more.
in my life time, I have written so many wills I can literally bind them into an impressive book.
Sad thing is, I really have nothing to leave anyone.
The only thing I have of any value, is my self. Even that is quite a dented swollen can, best to be thrown away.
I will take all the bad with me when I die. Leaving behind cryptic stories written in my youth. Half finished drawings and unchased dreams. A box of old battered mementoes of another time. Talismans that will mean nothing to anyone. There magical powers all used up by the girl in me.
I will leave the good though, when I die. My children, my husband.
total shame I can't put my most impressive writings on my blog.
I'm working on getting them typed in. They will sit like frozen corpses in the draft queue until my death, or until I don't care anymore and find the guts to press the publish button. Before I kill my self I will leave the log in to GTBO to someone with instructions to go in and push publish on them all.
Or I will do that as the last of my life spills out.
I am really suicidal. Not the usual kind though. This head space is numb, with a hit of paranoia drifting in and out.
Usually I can see the road ahead. Can't right now. I'm at the end of the film and the its spit out and flapping around the projector.
Makes me want to jump off high buildings.
Get in my truck and drive away.
Handling it right now.
DUDE YOUR TYPING A WILL, YOU'RE NOT HANDLING IT.
yes, oh yes this will end in a burn. Better a pound of flesh then my life, eh?
This is my last will and testament - voiding all the thousands of others you will find.
My therapy journals - I leave to who ever wants to read page after page of vomitus pain. Good luck rescuing her. I tried and failed. *Spoiler alert* - they all die in the end.
The meteorite dagger goes to sister #2, only she has the power to wield it.
To my children I leave what piddly possessions I have not given away or tossed by the time I die. I will give you a hint...look closely at them, as people age they discard things. Only the truly important things will be kept. What survived defines me.
To sister #3 I leave the wooden box Daddy made me.
To sister #1...what the hell can I give you? what do I possess that you would want? in fact what do I possess that ANYONE would want.
A few tangible things that gather dust, anything I value I owned I have sold off to pay our son's hospital bill.
The only thing of value I have is...my time and presence.
Damn it. Yes in deed its time to discuss my will again.
The will to go one.
It gets hard some times when the pain is crippling and unrelenting. When the depression is singing the lullaby of smoothing calmness and the ability to wake to no pain.
In the mist of all that there are small things that anchor me here.
"mama, I want you to hang around, my children will want to meet there grandma."
"Yes I want you to come home. I need you, I want you, I love you."
"Can you make mash potatoes for dinner?"
To everyone I leave you all: me.