There are days when I think I won’t make it through the pain. That its just too much for me. That I’m not strong enough for it. I wish I could turn back time. I wish I could turn back time to the day I let my secrets show and take it all back. I wonder if I’d of been happier just keeping it quiet forever.

Each day, something comes to mind, that makes me think, I was better not thinking about it. It doesn’t help me to realize the small things in my life that could have been different, if it weren’t for what all happened to me as a kid.

It’s been a long, really hard, very dark grey winter. I need spring. I need summer. I need sunshine. I don’t need more weeks of cold and rain and snow in fucking May. I can’t handle more grey. My head is so grey some days, I could really use the outside world to be bright.

I got a phone call from my brother. Just to talk about the trip I’m taking to his house next month. I said, hey, you know what, keep this between us okay? I don’t really want dad knowing I’m coming. Oh shit sis, he said. You are about two days two late.

I am spazzing out tonight. I unfortunately am gifted at this part. I can’t let it go. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop wishing that I could be happy to go see my dad.

It only matters that my dad knows, if he tells his wife, who may then tell her children. Shouldn’t matter, but it does. It does matter. I don’t have to see them. Honestly I won’t have time. If I did, I’d make sure I didn’t. But I don’t. That doesn’t make me feel any better though.

All I want to do is cry. I want to curl up in a ball and disappear. I want to run away to that island my friends and I talk about on shitty days. We talk about it, like it’s the island Kenny Chesney does his music videos on. Right now? I’d take the island that Tom Hanks talked to a volleyball on for years.

I am 30 years old and I’m scared of a phone call. From someone who can’t hurt me anymore. From someone who wouldn’t bother to show up where I was even if he knew where I was, because he could care less. That knowledge, doesn’t make me any less terrified.

He called me on my birthday. Because the next day was his birthday, we were born in the same year, he unfortunately is smart enough to remember this. Can’t keep a job or an apartment, can’t act like a human being, but oh he can remember my fucking birthday. Every few years he re-finds my number and calls me. I used to brush it off. I couldn’t this year. Even now? Three weeks later? I’m still having nightmares.

I am not brave enough for this. I am not strong enough for this. I want to shut this back away. This fear. This reality. I don’t want to remember. I want to forget.

I know I can’t and it sucks. I know I have to deal with it alone for awhile and it sucks. The fact that I can’t afford to send my child and I both to therapy, sucks. She comes first. Always. She is in need, she is hurting, this all I know. There is no question. I do wonder how long I can go without talking. Because talking does help.

There are people with way more problems than me. I know this. I see it every single day. I wish I had a magic wand to help, but I don’t.

I can’t even seem to help myself. I can’t stop being afraid of nothing. Logically I know that because my brother said my mom will be showing up at his house too, my dad will never tell his wife. Who won’t mention it to her children. Because really? She hates me and wouldn’t want to see me and never brings me up in conversation on purpose. Logic and fear though, don’t mix so well.

I’m afraid tonight. The fear is winning. I’m sad tonight. I’m depressed. And I can’t do a dam thing to stop it.