Strength In A Bottle

I have come to this place in my life where I am torn down the middle and wishing I had become a medical professional just so that I could diagnose myself schizophrenic and be done with it. I cannot deny my emotions, it defines me and how I lead my life. I have always been one for screaming when I'm mad, dramatically crying when I'm sad, jumping up and down when I'm content and scratching verbal nails down a grammatical wall when I am frustrated. And in some sense it works for me because I always know which way to go - the direction of my feelings.

But now my heart is split in two, like a definite line sliced strategically through the centre of me and testing my strength and tolerance. I taste the voices in my tears asking me 'which way will you go? Either way will be wrong!' Almost a torturous episode that seems to come and go. When I walk around the corner I never know if I'll accidentally fall back into that deep hole. Oh and the ladder takes so long to get here.

How does one tolerate a small ache every day, just a nabbing one that reminds you that you're just not as close to happiness as you wished you were. Then some moments of those turn into big aches. The heartburn is now a heart burst and the hurt is so excruciating that you lie stiff in agony, hoping it will pass, just hoping it will soon be over and your body will come to it's senses.

And then it does. And it's over. Like a cloud passing over the sun, the light is returned. And I feel ridiculous for having been so theatrical about one person. One situation that did not fit into my plan. One person in a place that is not the same place that I am in. I can't reach out and feel your comforting hand when my own are weak. I can't call you and ask for a visit so that you can hold me when I've had a bad experience. I can't arrive outside your house and surprise you when you least expect it just so that we can go get an ice cream or go for a drink and share our day. I can't drag you out shopping with me to approve of the dress that I want to buy or see the chick-flick that I know you'll secretly love too.

So this is it. Life alone, together. Am I happy? Are you truly happy? Will it be worth it in the end? Will we make it to the end? I could die tomorrow, and then we would have spent all this time apart. When our hearts were meant to be together.

And you sit there so strong. Like an ox on a hill. Like a solid mountain of durability, not to be shaken, not to be discouraged. Like a hero. And I look up at you with big eyes and feel awful for my weakness. If only I had some strength in a bottle. Some magic agent that could cause the ground to rise from under me and lift me up to your place on top of that mountain.

If I had more nerve. If I had more belief. If I had the same optimism as you do. If I had more in me to know that this is emotionally possible. If my emotions weren't torn I'd know what was best for me. Something to stitch the wound and let it heal, instead of the reoccurring slash. If the split through my heart could merge back into one piece and beat again...

Maybe I could feel happy again.