Let me remind you, this is a Judgement Free Zone.
I’ve been feeling for awhile now that when I wake up, no matter how many positives I have, I’m just waiting to die.
Everyone dies. But since having to write up my living will a few ago… due to my illness… I feel like I’m ticking by. The TV infomercials turn into a mumble in the background. My mother’s voice turns into a mumble in the background.
My pulse is the seconds on the clock that is my life.
I take what I take to get by. Medicine with side affects. My mom scolded me on New Years for the mini sexual revolution I had this past year on reflection of my behavior, even though it affected her in no way whatsoever and by comparison on what I could have done… Jesus, she doesn’t know how good she has it. I’m not a fucking drug addict. I pay my rent. My sex life is my sex life. I’m old. I feel old. I feel really old.
When I was little, like in grade school, my nickname was the Old Lady at the physical therapy office. Cause my body- my joints and my ligaments and muscles and discs, are all fucked up. I’ve felt old for so long. And I’ve been waiting for so long to end.
I think I’ve realized I’m alive. But most of the time, even when I technically am living, I don’t feel like I am. I feel fake. Distant. And patiently waiting for the end.
Round and round I go.
It’s been getting a harder to post. I hope this passes. Thanks for the support.
Featured image Clock Work is by Brittany Perez. To purchase: