I Can't Find My Mask

I can't find my mask today.
Usually it disappears while i'm alone and I can just be.
I can put a smile on my face and make it through the day when people are around.
Today I woke up and I felt so irritated, skin crawling, then sad.
What is wrong with me?
Why can't I be strong?
Why can't I reconcile myself with this life?
Life seems so long.
So long.
I don't think I can do it, but I can't keep hiding and lying dormant.

"Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace." Sylvia Path

Why doesn't my mind work properly if I was meant to live this life and be a mother to these children?
It's basic. Your mind. It directs, dominates, limits, manipulates, restricts, pulls.
When my mind won't work I feel helpless, powerless, weak. Abnormal.
Why can't I just "get on board" with existence? It's basic, right?
If I was all by myself it would be ok. I would go. I can't go, because I have children.
Can I keep avoiding life and faking it the rest of the time?
I am exhausted. My spirit is bankrupt. I feel not just crippled but bare, depleted.
I'm done. I'm so done.
If I could just have a glimpse of "normalcy", happiness. Not even happiness, but just feeling ok, then maybe I could get some strength to last me a little while.
I want to desire something. I want to find satisfaction in something. Anything.
"What can I do that will make me happy?" I selfishly ask myself. Nothing.
Living a dream in my head is my only escape, but I always have to come back. No matter how hard I close my eyes and wish, I have no magic.
I have no magic pill.
No magic to wish myself into a different existence, to turn back time.
Would I be happy if I had made different choices, or would I feel the same, just different walls, different people, different obligations?
I can pretend that things would be different and I would be happy and content. Life would be. Life would be what? Happy? That's too much. I don't need happy, ecstatic, manic, I just need to be ok.

"Is there no way out of the mind?"

"I talk to God but the sky is empty." So I quit talking.

When did I become this person, or has this been me all along.
Was I just too persuaded of my exceptionality by parents who wanted to be sure I felt loved?
Too preoccupied by the flattery, the constant applause given me as a child and a teenager?
I was so special, so beautiful, so different. Meant for great things. Called on this earth for some great purpose.
I have found that those things are concocted by people who want you to feel good about yourself and grow into a healthy and religious adult.
But what an incredible disappointment when you find that none of them are true. That you are just one of the crowd. How selfcentered you are!
I am undistinguished.
I am so tired of beautiful quotes about motherhood, life, marriage, being strong, living each day as if it is a gift.
Each day is another day of a death sentence that can't end soon enough.
God, what do you want from me?
If you want nothing, then I can give you that.
If you want something, then give me the tools, because my hands are turned up and empty.

"Why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life?"

I looked out my window and saw a man walking a dog.
How does he do that?
Why does he do that?
What compels him to get dressed, put on his shoes, leave the concealment of his home, and walk down the street?
I don't understand it?
Does he enjoy walking down the sidewalk, with his thoughts and nothing else?
I want to escape my thoughts and the only way I know how is to immerse myself in music, movies, or medication, and I can't do the the last one, although that's the one I want.

"Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it, or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to." Sylvia Plath