An answer to a prayer.

So, it's here again. One more to survive. I know I can do it, because I have done it so many times before. But every time I feel closer to death. Every time I feel slow and old and useless. A wasted human without purpose. Invisble. Misunderstood.

The pulse goes «zing,zing,zing» on the left side. I close my eyes, and try to relax, but all I can think of is the pulse who goes «zing,zing,zing» inside my head, in my hands and under my feet.

"Dear God, please help me!" A short and desperate prayer which might be answered in a day, maybe two or three. Maybe longer. I dont have any other prayer than that. "HELP ME, LORD!"

The kids needs dinner. I have to get up and make something. I think spaghetti will do. Its quick and easy. I feel like a zombie, and hope nobody nags or asks anything of me. Because that person, whoever it might be, might get a snappy answer. I dont mean to. But it happens anyways. Then I feel bad, and try to explain why mommy is the way she is today. But they dont know, thank God they dont know! I hope they will never know how it feels!

I walk to the bathroom before I plan to go back and lay down in the dark. The mirror has to be avoided. It is an enemy today. I dont know that person, so I avoid it. It is a scary image, and not at all a pleasant one. Swollen, dark circles under the eyes, puffy tired eyes. It scares me, so I dont look...One more pill or two, and maybe it will ease off. Maybe.

"Dear God, please help me!"

The pillow is a friend. Soft, nice and cold. I close my eyes and try my best to lay totally still. While my pulse go «zing,zing,zing»...and I start to think of all the things I should be doing instead of wasting my life away in pain, sitting or laying down. A waste. The house feels smaller than ever. The walls are getting closer every time it comes back.

I have learned to take it. To be quiet about it, and to not complain. Because there are others worse off than me. Kids have cancer, people are dying, and some live with diseases they dont even know the name of. A voice inside my head tells me I have no right to complain. No right to cry or feel sorry for myself. "Keep it together, woman!" The voice is stern and almost angry. But I am tired of saying I am fine when I am not. It is a lie! I am not fine, and it hurts. It hurts to feel the pain inside my head, but it hurts so much more to not be able to be the mom I should be for my kids! Thats the worse pain of the two. I want to be a real mom. A good mom full of life and health and smiles! With a neat home, and a garden with vegetables and flowers filling the air with a beautiful fragrance.

I feel tears running down my face, hitting the pillow like a silent creek of sadness in the dark, and only I know about them. They are mine to feel. Mine to cry. They are tears made of despair and hopelessness. Its a sad and lonely place to be.

Another precious day wasted. The sunshine wasn't made for me today. Another day putting others down.

I close my eyes, and feel the pills slowly taking effect. I still hear my pulse go «zing,zing,zing» on the left side. I fold my hands and pray "Dear God, please help me..."

Thats when my seven year old boy puts his arms around my neck, snuggles up to me and say "I love you mom!"