Survivor's Guilt

They told me it would be difficult.
Actually no, that's a lie:
they said it would be easy,
next time,
whenever I decided I was sick to death of this life.

"Now that you've crossed that line
and come out alive on the other side
the next time around,
the decision won't be so hard."

Who needs a next time?
I feel bad enough being here
that I might as well already be in Hell
(If I believed in the place.)

Yes, admittedly, I've got pretty much everything
I ever set out to achieve for myself:
I'm a wife, a mom, an author,
but at what cost?

No matter what I do,
people think I'm crazy.
And I can't even blame it on my parents anymore.

It's all me,
trying to make sense of this world,
trying to find sheer bliss
in a world that insists
on constantly bringing me down.

So often,
I wish I hadn't woken up;
especially seeing as though
the reason behind my actions
was because I didn't want to see anyone in pain,
knowing it was at my hands.

Now,
I'm surrounded by hearts that I've hurt,
worlds I've turned upside down,
bills that wrap their fingers around my throat
strangling the hope out of me;

hope that I'll ever learn
how to be happy with what I have,
and how to live with myself
when I decide to tell someone 'no.'

Looking Back

When my heart was shattered apart,
did my words fly away with its fleshy sentiments?
I can't write anymore.
I can feel, but I can't write.
I don't know what to say,
or how to put my thoughts into words.

I'm broken.
I've had plenty of time to heal, though,
that's the thing.
I've been away from his eyes, his smile,
longer than they were mine,
if indeed they ever really were.

What did I see in them, those eyes?
Was I imagining things the whole time?

I remember feeling stuck here,
feeling like I was drowning,
stuck in Houdini's glass tank,
beating my head against the ceiling,
screaming to escape -
but I don't understand why now.

I don't feel that way anymore,
and I can't fathom
what would've made me feel that way to begin with.

Who is right?
Was it the medicine or was it me?

Did I feel trapped by responsibility?
By the life I'd wanted to be mine for so long
I couldn't remember a time I'd dreamed
about being anything but a wife and mother?

I didn't want to just be saying the words once again,
putting everyone through hell again for nothing.
For once, I wanted to follow through
on something that I'd started.
To be determined, focused, strong.
And for a little while, I was.
For a little while, I surfaced.
I took deep, soothing gulps
of fresh, warm air,
and felt the caress of sunlight on my face.

But my reward for this,
for wanting more than what I had,
for not seeing the beauty and love
in the life that I already had,
was to have happiness ripped away from me,
slapped across my face like a wake up call;
a warning not to be foolish again.

I read the signs wrong.
Not surprising -
it's not the first time I mistook
a curse for a blessing,
and didn't recognize a blessing in disguise.

I try so hard, so often,
to understand people.
To understand why I'm here,
what my purpose is.
And every time I think I know the answer,
every time I near the summit,
I'm swept off my feet again.

Maybe one of these days,
I'll remember how to fly.