Sometimes I get this desperate, panicky feeling that bubbles and churns. I start feeling trapped and I get the urge to jump in my car and drive away with the music blaring to drown out my thoughts. Just drive. Far away.
But the problem is, that feeling that I want to drive away from, it comes with me. Everywhere. It’s within me.
I get this lump in my throat. Not the same lump that happens when you feel like crying. It’s like an arm wants to push its way out through my mouth and grab at something. It sounds so Alien-esque. But it’s the only way I can describe it.
I constantly get this feeling, this sensation. Like I’m just trying to reach for something but my arms aren’t long enough.
Reaching. Grabbing. Jumping.
Always just missing.
I want something. I need something.
Heck if I even really know that “something” is.
It’s making my A.D.D flare up though. Look, shiny. Look, kitty. I switch from thing to thing without looking back.
I am so jealous of those who figure out what they were meant to do. Their calling. Their destiny.
When I was younger, I just figured that I was going to be a mom. And here I am, a mom.
Don’t get me wrong, I adore my children and I really do enjoy being a mom. On the most part. I mean, it’s what I, being a woman, was supposedly born to do.
In four years, my children will start leaving. They will go off to college and then start building lives of their own. Hopefully.
On that very last day, when my youngest one leaves. And being a Mommy isn’t as full time or necessary…
And being a Mommy becomes even way more less than enough…
What do I do?
Who am I really?
Mirror, Mirror on the wall…?
What will the mirrors reply be?
A shoulder shrug.
A finger, pointing me in the direction of the washing machine?
I need something more than what I am doing.
Mindlessly doing the laundry and emptying the dishwasher while everyone is at school, it’s not cutting it. It never really has.
There are only so many errands and lunches you can do before losing your real sense of self.
Mine isn’t lost yet but it’s hiding really, really well.
I know who I am.
I just don’t know who I am really supposed to be.
And I’m so worried that I’m going to wake up when I’m 80 and still be wondering the same thing.
What is my greater purpose, other than worrying about money, health and the state of the world?
Why am I here?
It wouldn’t matter what direction I pointed my car and drove off towards. Or what channel I blared on the radio to try to drown out all these thoughts.
They will always stay with me.
I can figure this out.
IF I can figure it out.
Being a mom? Yeah, it’s great and I wouldn’t change it for the world.
It’s just not enough anymore.