A dreamer or optimist thinks about the flight. A realist thinks about the fall and the flight. And when the fall brings consequences you’re unprepared for or don’t want to suffer through, they call you a pessimist.
Ive taken chances in my life out of sheer desperation, after weighing the risk of falling, whether I’d make it, how I’d mend and try again. None thus far induced flight. With every jump, a fall from which I’ve had to grasp, grab and hold so I couldn’t reach rock bottom, the breaking point. Until now!
I weighed the consequences of my fall. I chose to jump as high as I could because I was tired of living between surviving and despair. I wanted to live, thrive if I dared. I dared. I leapt and in the process I risked not just my life but losing my wings, my kids. I love my kids. One outcome, a consequence I wasn’t prepared for is ripping our union. I may lose my babies though all I was trying to do was fly. For us.
Oh! Oh! Dear God! “Abba Abba lama sabachtani”. How can this be? How can it be that I’d lose everything I’ve worked for, tried to hold us together for me to lose it all? I’ve lived too long between desperation and survival. But this! I won’t be able to live through. My kids are my everything, the breath that I take. Life isn’t worth a thing without my kids in it. Not an iota of yield!
This is worse than risking my heart in romantic dalliances and these I’ve given up on since 2013. I took so many chances, wanting to believe that someday, this one or that one will be the one, a partner in crime and we would fly to the moon together. With each failure, after each mistake, a fall so horrid that would tear me to pieces. By 2013, I knew I couldn’t emotionally, psychologically afford another leap. I just gave up. No more dates. No more believing people’s promises and sweet nothings, knowing indeed, they were nothing, usually nothing but lies. How many puffed up lies could one handle before you realize you’re not good at sifting through bullshit no matter how forthcoming you are with others, or kind or sweet and giving. I had too much going on, in my life, needing all my strength trying to sustain my daughter’s, myself to veer my attention to people who brought me nothing but lies, pain, self-hatred and pushed me further down the abyss of despair.
Through all of those and more, my only reason for holding on to life: my kids. I was tired of losing and needed to win for them, just one win: see them through to 18 when I could set them free.
I don’t think I’lle able to part from them. Not now. Too soon. It truly isn’t worth it. I’m not mad enough to fly. I’m not made to try. Can’t even hold on when your wings have been clipped. I care nothing about anything besides my babies. Nothing at all.
Dear God! They are my wings!