yearning for Freedom

Yearning for Freedom


I can hear them whispering behind me as I stand alone at the reception desk.  "There's miss Life of Riley" one spits.  "Do you know she actually used to be a nurse and her who thinks she's too grand to play nursemaid to others".  "Her husbands always working, while she sits at home with the feet up".  "Don't know how they afford it and they have two cars don't u know, likely so she can swan around at her leisure".  
"If he had any sense he'd up and leave taking those children with him".  "Aye, she's always shipping them out from what I can tell".  
I hear these words and they cut like a knife.  I won't cry, won't give them them the bloody satisfaction.  They know rightly I can hear them.  They don't know me or what my life is like, they don't have the first clue.  Who are they to judge me?
Yes, I stay at home, a prisoner in my box, as most days I'm too ill to get out of bed.  If that's leisure there welcome to it.  I yearn to be back at work, to have a reason to get out of bed in the first place.  I used to be such a social person but over the past few years I have isolated myself more and more.  What would I say for conversation, I do nothing, I see no one, my brain feels like mush.  I'm a clever woman but the medication has taken it's toll.  Nowadays it is a struggle just to bring words to mind or focus on a conversation.  Not exactly inspiring motivation to go out and socialise.  So I crawl deeper into my box, into the dark shadows, where I feel safe and I can keep everyone out.

This is not where I want to be, it is not a conscious decision, my disease dictates my life choices not my mind.  Those kids she thinks I ship out are being cared for elsewhere because I am unable to do it myself.  This makes me feel worthless to hear out loud the words that i have already let poison my mind.  It's a slap in the face reminder of my non existence.  That second car is about to be scrapped because we can't afford to keep fixing it.  What little independence I have will be leaving with it, what then?  My last life line cut.

As for my husband I often ask him the same question.  "Why don't you leave and take the children with you, this is no life for us all?  "Why should we all be punished because me"?  I ask myself how will I survive this, how am I surviving this?  This is not living, it's existing and I'm only here because leaving would hurt the very people who love the me the most.  

I dream about escape all the time.  A release from the physical and mental anguish.  How amazing it would be to feel nothing, to just blink and be gone,  to just become part of the ether.  Once I am gone I think they would all realise how much easier life would be.  They would miss me for a while, well the idea of me anyway.  What they do not see is that the real me left a long time ago, leaving a swirling mess of pain and despair.  
Now ask yourself,  who would really miss that.