Saturday, February 21, 2009

Lay Your Hands Over Me.

Come to me now
And lay your hands over me
Even if it's a lie
Say it will be alright
And I shall believe
I'm broken in two
And I know you're on to me
That I only come home
When I'm so all alone
But I do believe...
-"I Shall Believe"

Tonight, I was very upset. I was crying, and I wished and wished for someone to come to me and comfort me. Most especially, I wished for my husband. He did not come.

For so many years of my life, I've been waiting for someone to show up who doesn't. I need to stop waiting, to find the love and loyalty within myself to comfort myself when I'm struggling.

I am depressed. I am going to go to see a doctor tomorrow. I can't keep doing this much longer. My thinking is crazy. I want to sleep. I want to get drunk. I think of ways to hurt myself. I am cycling through old patterns. I don't want to do this anymore, and I can't stop myself. I can't pray it out or meditate it out or meeting it out or yoga it out.

Addiction is a progressive, fatal disease. So is depression. I've been on and off anti-depressants for years, and I've been in and out of counseling since I was a teenager. I honestly believed that I'd found a way out of these cycles through recovery, but I think I've reached a wall I can't pass through on my own.

Tonight, as I cried and cried and cried and wished like hell for my husband to come to me, it felt so familiar, that deep desire to be picked up in someone's arms and told that I'm going to be ok. I wonder where this pattern is coming from...if there was some awful night when my mother was unable to comfort me, crying in my crib, and if I'm going to act this thing out until I find the trapdoor out of it.

I want my husband to come, pick me up, and change my diaper. I want him to hear me, see me. I want something from my outsides to fix my insides, and most especially, I want my husband to fix me. He's sick. He can't. I know these things to be true, but I think that now maybe I'm sick, too.