When You Feel You’re in Free fall
Life is spiraling out of control.
As someone riding the rollercoaster of grief, I often find myself in freefall. One day, I’m fine and things are going well. I go to work, do my job, and then go home. Other days, I wake up and lay there, begging my body to move. I trudge to work, barely getting there on time, and hear nothing but static around me. My heart is heavy. My spirit is low. All I want to do is stay in bed with the covers over my head.
I’m feeling like that right now. I’m in bed as I type this piece. I had a moment of freefall. I was overwhelmed by emotion as I thought about my life. I reflected on actions that I’ve done and why I’ve done them. The actions are both exciting and wrong. The actions make me feel in control and out of control at the same time. The actions could ruin my life. But I’m at the crossroads between wanting to stop and not wanting to stop. That’s why I’m fighting tears as I write this piece.
Before my mother died, I already felt a piece of myself slipping away. I couldn’t concentrate. I would zone out. I would sleep to fight off depression. I would eat junk food. I was under treatment for cancer and wondered if there was anyone point. My mother was beating eaten away by the disease. I didn’t want to go down that path, but the pain of losing her was pushing me in that direction.
Even now, I’ve missed appointments with my Breast Health Center. I need to call and reschedule but I haven’t. There’s a pain in my breast and I want to get checked out. I did have a mammogram back in August. That came back clear. But I need to have surgery to remove my ovaries. I need to change my treatment plan. And I’m dragging my feet.
I know I need to get it together. But I’m wallowing. The part of me that wants to get back on track is losing to the part of me that wants to fall further in the freefall. I need something to grab, something to hold on to. I need someone to catch me and help me land safely. But I wonder if the ground would even hold me when I land.
Life is hard. We all know that. But it seems harder for some than for others. I always felt that my mother was strong. She dealt with domestic abuse and poverty and remained standing. My mother raised my brother and me and we both went on to become college-educated homeowners. My mother helped me with my family, becoming an integral part of their development. She was a fountain of information. Her old-school ways were the foundation for our survival. Cancer rocked our foundation.
I’m hurting. I hate feeling this way. Grief is a burden on my back. Maybe that’s why I’m in chronic pain. My shoulders. My lower back. My right breast. They all ache. It makes me tired. I wish I were on a tropical island, getting a deep tissue massage and sipping a fruity drink. I want to be surrounded by muscular men, fulfilling my every whim. Maybe someday.
Right now, I have to deal with the pain. I need to keep writing. My essays and poems have been my light in this darkness. My family has helped too. But I need to get back into control without doing things that may make my life worse. I have to make a choice to do better. It will take time. But if I do one thing to improve my life each day then it will get better. I just have to begin.
