Last week.





I am sitting here; music playing as she dances - newly six as
of yesterday.
Sitting here - thinking, but trying not to.
We haven't touched since
February you know.
But I can't talk about that.
You had a freak out last week
You called for help, he came home
and they arranged for you
to talk to someone.
"So it's all my fault.." he says.
Yes and no.
Yes and no.
You started a new thing the next day.
It's hard to say
if it helps
  But you've been here before
New friends, hard packed and small
you swallow them quietly, dutiful to those
bottles.
Dutiful to listening.
Those things you hear
the things you see.
They rarely leave you alone.
How do you explain that to him.
All you can say
  is that
They have always been there.
That you have always dealt with them.
Voices that say to hurt yourself
or your children.
To walk in to that traffic.
Or you hear her screaming at you.
Things you see-
Hurting yourself
jumping from the window.
Throwing your child
Against a wall.
Usually- they are tamed - you
say, "not now."
"That is not how it will be."
But last week was bad, you say.
stress makes them worse.
But it bothers him.
Added stress on the stress
you both carry.
She's dancing to Led Zeppelin-
Singing George Harrison.
"Momma, I want to dance forever."
Of course, my babe - you will always dance.
The smaller babe- two, and so soon. 
Babbling at the backdoor, 
trying to peer over the
table.
All are safe, fed and clothed.
You tell yourself that when
you worry.
We'll pay those bills.
We might talk about intimacy again
some day.
You might do more
than just sleep in the bed again.
Someday.
You take it more personally than he likes.
You feel as though-
Expected to
stop wanting him?
Intimacy?
You long for a sort of freedom.
Yesterday you finally used it-
Without shame.
Excited, you wanted to share-
But it fell on uninterested eyes in the message you struggled
to send.
The usual way asserted itself.
Work stress.
Kid stress.
Money stress.
You go quiet- it's better this way, in a sense.
Less confrontation, besides-
You can use it again.
She starts school later today
That's I'm not dressed yet.
No shame in that. But then, I don't change my shirt much.
I don't get to shower as much, sometimes
it's by choice.
Hopefully this medication
will be a new friend. Not like the others.
You fret about seemingly small things -
your body is flabby, thicker in new ways.
It might increase with this new friend.
Privately, you worry about it, despite his
promises that it's not that big a deal.
The way your belly hangs.
Your upper arms waggle.
You say to yourself:
"You had two kids, its normal"
But you fret still.
They're in their room, giggling and shrieking
as I write. Now one is crying, one has the ball and won't share.
I say to myself, 'please stop crying.'.
The moment of agitation fades.
I breathe quietly.
I breathe quietly.
A song sets you off sometimes.
A chorus, or a melody.
You can go all day, listening to that same song
lost in emotions that feel weighty in your figurative jaws.
It's been a while since you tried to bite the sun.
He says he misses you.
You say you miss him, but quietly you understand.
You've both changed
for the better? that's hard for you to
see.
Summer is on it's way; and you can barely drag yourself out the
door to see her to school.
You rarely drive.
You don't like talking on the phone
outside of him and your dad.
Your companions are music, the occasional doodle.
Pixelated friends bring you some distraction from these constant worries.
He thinks you play too much.
Another thing you try to give him.
"Momma" she says. "She has the toothpaste again."
I breathe, irritated. I feel bad at being needed. Again.
I tell myself, that it's normal to be frustrated. Yes, everyone needs me here.
Constantly.  I just want a moment.
The toddler has another tantrum - because I took the toothpaste away.
Again.
Some days, you're lucky if you can bring
yourself to eat more than some oatmeal and
a string cheese.
You feel like shit after you eat.
You feel like shit if you don't eat.
Your heart races; you can feel it in your ears.
You shake a lot lately, no matter if you've eaten -
or got yourself hydrated.
It's stress, you speculate.
That's what happened last week.
You were so pent up
from an argument and other stresses.
It just blew up.
It took you a few days to recover from that.
You feel awful that you had to give him reason
to stress more.
I don't want to call him again. I know he may not have meant it 
to be this way - but I feel guilty.

I feel bad for needing help.
I feel bad asking for help.

I have. a village - they rallied when I couldn't.
Whispered, respectful messages that say
We're here for you - we see you.

And I think quietly,
Thank you, my loves.