I Am Sick And Tired Of Being Sick And Tired.
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I am sick and tired of being sick and tired all the time.
Finally, for the first time in my life, I have resolved to do something about it — the right way. I’ve decided to work at climbing out of this musty rabbit hole — one step at a time.
Inch by inch, I will claw through the damp murky soil, up past the roots and the worms, past the scents of clay and minerals and damp, rotting leaves, and I will disregard them as I ascend to the surface and toward the bright, comforting warmth of the sun.
As I write this, I am terrified. Terrified that you won’t believe me; that my kids won’t believe me. Most of all, I’m terrified that I don’t believe me. But I have no choice. I must make my way out of here or die in here.
Every day I will break a sweat and let my heart race.
Every day I will create my new reality through words or art.
Every day I will embrace the good in my life more than the bad.
I have been blessed, so blessed in this life — blessed with four wonderful, lovable, healthy and beautiful children. I have been cursed in this life — cursed by the untimely young death of my selfless, loving husband not long ago.
I have allowed myself to focus on the loss and pain, to wallow in fear and succumb to total paralysis at times. I resolve now to focus on the love and the gifts more than the lack in my life.
Every day I will practice loving myself as much as I love my children.
Every day I will praise them for the goodness they bring to this world and to me.
Every day I will work my ass off to let them see me smile as I laugh at their knock-knock jokes and potty humor.
I will try to remember daily that I am not alone. I’ll write my way out of this coffin I have nailed myself into. I will turn my fear into fare, and chew it up and spit it out. Then I’ll stomp on it boldly and leave it in the dirt. I’ll cleanse my palate with deliciousness and rejoice in the fact that I Am Alive!
Every day I am afraid. At this very moment, I am afraid.
Every day I will release my terror through pen or brush, and I will do this until the ink runs dry or until the colors that bleed onto my paper are no longer wet with my own tears.
Every day I will welcome the hugs and adoration of my children. I’ll let them watch me climb so they will know how to do it if they ever need to. And every day I will pray to God that they never will.
I will walk until I can run. I will run until I can race. I will dive into the ocean — under and over the crashing waves because, deep inside, I know I have the strength to push through them. I will smell the sea and feel the sand run through my fingers and remember I am loved and watched over.
I will remember, and will remind myself, daily that the only one who cares about how I am perceived is me. And I am good. And I will get better.
Every day.
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Susie Bean Breitbart is an artist, a mother and a survivalist with a poor sense of direction, but a fierce determination to keep searching for truth and happiness in this life. She finds that, through artistic endeavors such as painting, drawing, interior design and writing, she is starting to grow and heal in ways she never imagined possible.
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