plath & other thoughts

i almost killed myself this week.

i didn't, because some tiny sliver of thought got me up off the floor and into the bath where the water still ran way too hot and burned my skin and numbed the pain, but at least i'm still alive.

the thought that saved me was just this one: "i love my kids," over and over and over and over, my version of "i am, i am, i am" because the one i tattooed on my arm didn't do the trick.

funny, how that works. you think injecting Plath into your skin will help you remember to be present and instead of appreciating the strength and awe of such a simple phrase and being proud of your own resilience, instead of it reminding you "i am still here," your last sliver of clarity isn't about life at all.

i refuse to have a hand in further traumatizing any one of the 43 kids charged to my care five days a week. quite simply, the 22-year olds my kids will become deserve better than to be saying "When I was in fourth grade, my teacher killed herself."

but just for the record, taylor swift lied to me. i am not feeling 22. i'm feeling so much older and yet so much younger, too. i don't know where the line is anymore between the two.

one time my tooth came out and i thought it was a sunflower seed so i spit it out onto the sidewalk. it was spring. or was it winter? in any case, i was living in new york. i don't remember which time because after enough moves before the age of six they all blur together, but even if they didn't i have gaps anyway. i hadn't eaten any sunflower seeds but it was the logical assumption my brain jumped to. it was the only thing it could be because my brain had no other expectations.

that's how this feels. the "this" that i speak of is complex, but i think what i'm getting at here is that my brain has never had expectations for things to get better. so naturally, they keep getting worse, and with every block piled on top i can't help but resign myself to the fact that must be self-inflicted, and this thought is reinforced time and time again and overall

im beginning to think that plath had the right idea.

which idea, though? the "writing through the pain" part, even when there is no foreseeable success in the future because it's been such an upset of any possible plans that nothing feels in your control? or the "sticking your head in the oven" part? i guess we'll never know.