Last night was the first time in quite sometime that the panic attacks returned to the extent I was withering, shaking and crying. The type of fear and thoughts that leave me longing for any way possible to silence it. Brought on by the fallout of my mother's displaced hurt. I understand it and can empathize and know I am the one who will take it. But this does not make it easier. I am so sensitive currently, and the slightest little nit pick sets off a menagerie of emotions. She undulates so rapidly I cannot keep track. Am I the black sheep, or am I making her proud.
I am glad you did not witness it. I rolled over in the darkness, my cheeks wet, eyes red and looked at you sleeping so peacefully. Your arm grazing my leg delicately, your long lovely lashes curled against your face. It offered me a bit of comfort to look at you so angelic and close.
But I did not want you to see me like that. Even if you likely would have offered comfort and support. The delicate smile on your face, and feeling as though if nothing else I have given you what I cannot do for myself is my respite. Beyond being told I am loved, you have expressed need, the feeling of being incomplete without me. And how my presence calms your own storms. The thing is, I do not do anything special, other than be myself. I do not try nor plan. That is all I have at the moment. I cannot stop certain realities. I take peace in the things I do not chose nor try to control yet somehow are perfect. Or as close to that as can be.
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