IDENTITY: A Motherhood Essay Series

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The Ocean: Part Two

My mind is the pea.
All these thoughts are infinite layers of blankets on top of it.
The princess is whatever thing I’m supposed to be doing.
She can feel the pea no matter how many blankets are blocking it.
But she can’t fucking reach it.

At some point my mind became more than a box.
Instead of a container for everything I was
thinking,
dreaming,
hoping,
it became a prison.

Every emotion is buried in the bottom, so that my default state is auto-pilot.

Numb. Unfeeling. Survival mode.

Once a month, I can’t keep the lid on anymore. Everything comes flowing out of it like Pandora’s Box. Infernal clockwork.

I’m not in the passenger’s seat anymore and it’s glaring how big of a failure this strategy is. Ignore it and it’ll go away.

Ha.

Ignore it and it’ll come back to deal with you later.

But it gets to pick when.
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Lies for the Liars.

The Used’s best album and the best description of my coping mechanism during that one week.

I’m fine.
Life is fine.
Everything is fine.

‍The only one who can fix this is me, so why would I dump the burden of knowing on anyone else?

The offers are kind.
They’re appreciated.
They’re noted.
They’re refused.

But what about the other weeks? There’s always an excuse—that’s the secret.

There’s always a reason not to change.

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The difference between laziness and emptiness.

Is there a difference? I’m sure there is. The problem is that they both look the same.

Mindlessly moving from one task to the next.
Half-assing the necessary.
Delaying the unnecessary.

But the causes couldn’t be more different.

Does it matter which it is?
Is one easier to break free from?

How do you peel off the layer of inertia that’s keeping everything fuzzy, keeping it all stuck in place, if you can’t find a corner to start on?
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