My brain muddles when I wish it were clear. I want time, more time, more time…but for what?

This pessimistic vibe infiltrating my outlook feels controlling and mean. I see visions of failure where visions of success once played.

I feel forsaken when I’m cared for and lost although I’ve been found.

I think of my sister, the one who laughs and plays, always looking to today and beyond. Not worried. Encouraging.

I want to tell her, “It’s impossible; what you say is untrue.” I do not believe in joy these days.

Happiness is only a dangling carrot. The hologram of a dangling carrot. It’s not okay. I’m not all right. The “good” I’ve done or experienced feels like fraud.

You know, twice last week I allowed thoughts of death to plod along in my mind to the point of thinking that “not being here” would be the best thing for me.

But I see my children’s faces in my mind’s eye and I know it would never be the same for them. It wouldn’t be the best thing for them.

Would it?

I couldn’t leave them here to experience the pain of this world alone.

I feel like I’m a horribly nasty, mean, rude person who hides it well.

I’m hating myself. It’s been going on like this for a couple of weeks.

Please, God, angels, LIFE…please give me a sign that everything is, in fact, going to work out. Something. Anything. I’m begging you.

Please show me the way out of this lie.