I woke up this morning crying. I cried through coffee. I cried through texting a friend. I cried through cooking breakfast. I cried while sitting in my living room alone. Our Christmas tree is still just sitting in its box on the floor and I must have read the label a billion times to try and stop crying. All that happened instead was I started imaging that I was inside there. I certainly could fit in there. Don’t worry, there are holes for breathing.
Pre-Lit. I think that’s what I am. I don’t mean lit as in drunk or lit as in I’m so happy I feel lit. I’m destine to be who I am. I’m pre-lit to have emotional days. I’m pre-lit to have my feelings hurt easily. Pre-lit for empathy. Pre-lit for caring too much. Pre-Lit. If I were in that box, I’m sure my pre-lit feature would come with confusing directions on how to make me blink off and on as well as how to make me continuously the same.
My father’s Bipolar disorder has come with consequences to myself here and there and that’s okay. If this were an easy box to fit in, everyone would be trying to fit inside it. I have good days and I have bad days. I have guilt free days and then some days I feel so guilty for not being able to keep my father from his current depressed state; that I would like to lie down in bed all day and unplug myself.
At least I can step in the box and step out of the box. I can’t very well change my pre-lit feature, but that is okay. If you don’t like that feature about me, there are other boxes to make a choice from.
This situation I am in is not a situation that is too hard on me. It’s not something I’m crying over because I wish I hadn’t have made this choice to care for my father. I cry sometimes because I need to. Remember, I told you I’m just pre-lit this way. I’m not unplugged. This is how I am supposed to work. Don’t try to read my directions.