"They were having a rest in a small sand-pit on the top of the forest. Pooh was getting tired of that sand-pit, and suspected it of following them about, because whichever direction they started in, they always ended up at it, and each time, as it came through the mist at them, Rabbit said triumphantly, "Now I know where we are!" and Pooh said sadly, "So do I," and Piglet said nothing...
"Well," said Rabbit, after a long silence in which nobody thanked him for the nice walk they were having, "we'd better get on, I suppose. Which way shall we try?"
I'm sitting here wondering how it happens so fast. It comes out of nowhere, and a smile a moment before sits frozen in shock, until it fades, and crumbles into despair. One tiny little chink to the Achilles heel of my soul and I'm in the dark, without the will the climb out of it ever again.
Because, really....what is the point?
Why keep TRYING if I always just end up HERE in this blackness?
I feel like the story of Winnie the Poo...when he goes around with Rabbit and Piglet, and all of a sudden, they realize that they keep coming back to the same sandpit. I used to think that was really funny...I remember the pictures in the story book...the expressions on their cartoon faces...it made me laugh. I remember watching the movie on video tape over and over again with my sweet little Hamilton who adored Poo Bear. I watched it to be with my little one, but, I also loved that story. I laughed every time...even as a mother.
But now...I keep coming back to that sandpit. I keep falling in it unexpectedly, even though I KNOW it was there before. I start looking up, noticing the blue sky, and butterflies flitting about...I start to believe in fairies again...I start to believe I'm going to be o.k....and then...WHAM SPLAT CRASH!!!!! I'm in the fucking sand pit again. And...I don't think it's funny. I don't see the humor in it, though I am pretty sure that LIFE is laughing at how easily I trip. "Oh look...there she goes again! Isn't it FUNNY when she falls in it AGAIN! HA HA HAHAHA !"
So, while I'm sitting in here, feeling the gritty sensation of sand in my teeth from doing a face plant suddenly, I just feel like crying forever.
I don't want to cry about getting stuck in the sand pit any more. I'm just HERE. In the fucking sand pit. I can't keep trying to get out of it. Looking at the blue sky just trips me up. Trying to believe in fairies isn't working for me. My companions in life might find a way out of this stupid hundred acre wood if they would just LEAVE ME IN THE GOD DAMNED PIT!!!!!!!!
It's too hard to keep finding myself back here. It's too hard to realize it's happened. Again.
Maybe if I just...give UP....I can just accept that this is my life. In a sand pit.
I'm one of those dogs you may have read about. The ones that taught psychologists about the effects of depression. The ones that stopped trying to avoid the shocks. They just sat in a corner, whimpering. They had learned that there was no point in trying to get away anymore. They had learned that they would be shocked...no matter what they did. It's called learned helplessness. And...I've learned it. I get it now. Life is never going to stop pushing me into the sandpit. ever.
At least, if I stay here....I'll know where I am. At least...if I stay here...I can't fall IN again.
Maybe I can outsmart life if I just stop TRYING to get away from the pit.
Apparently, it's where I'm supposed to be. Why else would life keep pushing me into it?
My husband. My sweet husband. The man I love so desperately. He keeps trying to coax me out. His hand is outstretched and he's hoping I'll grab it. He wants me to keep on walking with him. He figures that as long as we walk together, one step at a time...even if the sand pit shows up again (and it WILL), that we'll be o.k.
But I'm not so sure about that.
Because I'm just in the sandpit whimpering.
I don't want to grab his hand because I'm afraid of bringing him back to this spot. I'm afraid life will push anyone near me in with me. I want him to back away slowly...and just leave me in the sand pit. I want him to get as far away as he can go. AWAY from the sand pit that has claimed me as it's prisoner.
I don't seem to care about finding a way out anymore. The sand pit will find me if I try to get away. It will find me no matter how happy I get to be in one moment. It will find me no matter whose hand I'm holding. Or how tight I'm holding it.
I'm pretty sure that blue skies will still shine for everyone else if I stay here.
I'm not going anywhere. I'm just here. In the pit. I'll sit here, and if my kids need something, I'll try to get it for them. When my husband needs dinner, I'll make it for him. But...inside...I'm in the sand pit. I'm not coming out. And I'm not going to eat another bite until I understand why I keep getting pushed in here. I read this morning that a person can survive for about 45 days without food...and that's only if they are thin. I'm 257 pounds at this point. I think I can hang around until I get some fucking answers from this life. Until I get something CLEAR from the universe I'm not going to keep sustaining myself with food that just sticks to my ass making my burden of existence heavier and heavier. I want ANSWERS NOW!!!! and if I don't get them--
well. then, that is my answer. And here I will sit. In the pit. While everyone else moves on...out of the forest...safe from the pit...and safe from me.