Maybe I can wait until the new year.
My legs shake from fear of the unknown, from having to discuss my feelings, and from exhaustion as I approached the grounds of the massive hospital.
I never get nervous.
They are going to commit me.
Her eyes fill with tears as I attempt to explain my sadness.
Feelings of uselessness weigh heavily on my back and shoulders.
I want to tell her not to worry.
That the suicidal thoughts running through my brain are nothing to be afraid of.
But now that I’m a mom I know that’s an impossible request.
My heart breaks for her.
I know she wants to leap across the table and wrap me up in her arms.
She wants to keep me with her so that she can ensure my safety.
I would do the same for my daughter.
He looks at me in confusion and waits for me to explain my behaviour.
He wants to know why I’m seeing red, yelling in frustration, and unable to see the humour in a silly situation.
I want to see the humour.
I want to be normal.
He looks at me with sympathy.
The man I love.
Understanding, calm, reassuring, and strong.
He is my strength.
Because I am feeling weak.