I probably shouldn’t have said that. 

My husband asked me about our monthly budget yesterday and from his phrasing and tone I knew where he was headed. 

“We can’t afford to move out” 

I panicked and told him that I would kill myself if we lived here passed September. 

I’ve never said such a thing to anybody before. 

In 25 years of death wish I’ve never threatened anyone with it. 

I’ve been in constant panic since yesterday afternoon. I couldn’t sleep. My heart is pounding. My head hurts. 

But I’ve realized two things today. 

Firstly, I hate living here so much because I can never find peace. I have no sanctuary. No place to escape. It’s like walking with legos under every fucking step. Every fucking day. For three fucking years. 

Secondly, I don’t think I was threatening. Or at least not idly. I haven’t been so close to crisis in a decade. I have thought about suicide more in the last year than in the previous ten combined.

If I have to live here past summer I’m sure at some point I will hurt someone. Probably me. 

I can’t do it anymore. 

At least now he knows. 

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On and off again 

Saturday I sacrificed my energy, my creativity and my pain free day on the alter of good mom-hood. I took my kids to the pool. Which involved me staying 2 feet from my 3 year old and 5 feet from my 8 year old at all times. It was far more exhausting than I expected. I spent the rest of the day watching mindless TV, too tired to even fidget. 

The last two days have been an odd mix of brain dead and inspired. At dinner last night I stumbled over my words and my sentences were word salad but I wrote a brilliant scene for my screenplay immediately after. I wrote the above paragraph and then spent 5 minutes staring dazedly at the screen, my mind a complete blank. 

I feel like my mind is a dryer, in the cycle where it keeps clothes from getting wrinkled. It spins with brilliant activity and creativity and then suddenly, randomly and without warning, everything stops and is still and lifeless.