January 25, 2008

The Sobbing

And then there’s the sobbing

I feel it coming on and I go to my room

I crawl onto the softness of my bed

Curl up on my knees

Face in the covers

Child’s pose they call this

I feel like a child

Sometimes it hits me and I have to escape

From the rest of the house

From the eyes of my children

I’m supposed to be the grown up

In control

The sobs are ugly, guttural, moaning sobs

Gushes of tears wet my coverlet

The muscles in my back and neck tense

Throb

Forcing it out

It only lasts a few moments

I roll on my side

Hair stuck to my wet cheeks

Stare up at the gray of my ceiling

My blue walls…the same denim blue as his eyes

Deep breaths

Dry my face

Get up and get back to life

The façade of “Everything’s alright.”

They ask me, “Are you ok, mom?”

And I lie, “I’m fine.”

Or, “I just have a headache.”

But it’s not just my head

Every part of me hurts

Every part of me cries

And dies a little each day

Then there’s the sobbing…

 

Just me…Marissa

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