the struggle

It’s the internal struggle that I want to be done with. You ask me how I’m doing, I’m going to tell you I’m fine – the words will vomit out of my mouth before I even have a chance to process the question. Because a part of me IS fine – I get up every morning and I am a good mother, a good teacher, a good housewife, a good friend; I do everything I’m supposed to do, I get shit done and I do it well…no one sees the part(s) of me that’s not fine. To say I’m not fine would feel like a lie, an attention grab. To say I’m not fine would make me vulnerable, and no voluntary part of me knows how to be vulnerable.

The part of me that’s clearly not fine only shows up when I panic. And if I’m angry enough. It pops up unannounced, as it pleases, and wreaks havoc; but I can’t really access it otherwise – it’s hidden away, beyond my control.

& The struggle is in the part of me that bridges those two extremes – the coping mechanisms that keep the real “not fine” part contained; I guess it’s assumed this part of me also isn’t fine, just based on the nature of my coping mechanisms…but it’s my normal, as