Self

I sat down wanting to write. I was thinking about fall; about the air changing and Back to School shopping. Then, I blanked. My brain wiped completely clean and I had no idea what I was thinking about even a few minutes ago.

When did I develop an aversion to expression? I used to love to write; to pour out all the insecurities, pain and emotions. I made me feel detoxed. Now, the only time I can seem to compose any sort of thought is at night, when I should be sleeping and I'm too lazy to get up and write or type.

It's super frustrating.

Maybe all this is really just that in the light of day, none of my emotions are really important. How I feel isn't helping me grow or change, it's just holding me back. So maybe preoccupying my brain with other unimportant things is a self preservation mechanism that prevents me from overindulging in self pity. But then why do I feel so sad?

I haven't gone back to my job. I still have lots to do, but I feel aimless. Useless. Unnecessary. Like a toy that sits on a shelf with nothing to do until bedtime when the little kid comes back to hug it. I'm an extra in my own life. A background character who is only noticed when the protagonist is in frame.

I don't even feel like I'm beating on myself when I say that; it feels like fact. I have no purpose in and of myself. My purpose is to maintain the house and look after all my children's needs, but since they are in care during the day I serve no function and might as well shut down.

And yet, somewhere there's a spark of my old ambition to do something.
But what? What am I capable of accomplishing? What do I want to be capable of doing?

I have no freaking clue. 

You know those teenagers with big dreams? The ones with the inspiration boards that follow a path. I never had one. I had dreams once I guess, but I don't really remember it. I just wanted to move forward; further from the pain because that's what I was told would make me feel better. Once must move forward and the further you get from the pain the less you feel it. That isn't really true though.

It's not just about moving forward. It's about moving forward with something else. You need to replace the pain with something good. Something you've worked for and earned and care about. The only thing I have that I care about is my kids and as time moves forward they will need me less and less.

So I'm just a shell of a person trapped in a mom's body until I'm not needed; until I've fulfilled my purpose.

Then what will become of me?