When these days creep up on me they are bad, there is no other way to describe it other than black.
The heaviness of my heart overwhelms me to be brink of suicide. The thoughts flood my neurological rational and I see no other way out. I backtrack these thoughts to childhood, probably around age 6. An intense urge to flee and hide, hurt myself, hate myself the utter extreme- kill myself.
Why? How can someone perceived to be so strong feel so brittle and have know one to turn to. Know one to see the depths of the heaviness for yet everyone says “I’m hear for you”. I ask where are they now?
It’s mothers day and I hate everything about today, I hate that I don’t have a normal relationship with my own mother. Why wont this heartache fuck off, I’m 31 I know this will never change. Be grateful you have a mum people say cherish her but they don’t know her or what she says.
I hate that I barely talk to the woman I called a foster mother for many years, I miss her, sometimes think of contacting her- rejection hurts so I don’t.
I hate feeling jealous of all the other mothers that get recognised yet all I have done for 14 years is be a mother – and on this superficial global day know one says thank you for raising my children to me. It hurts- Un-appreciation hurts and festers like sludge.
I hate that I hate all this and I hate that even on mothers day my teenage son argues with me and just wants his father. It pushes me to the edge, I stand at the visual cliff, just one step and I can end this. Float into the unknown and let this heavy heart float away just like a balloon, POP.
The blackness is weighted, a loneliness to the core that know one feels for they are not me. These times will pass as it always does. It may last an hour or it may last a day. Come the moon or a new born day I rise again, wipe my teary deceitful eye, for one looking in, would assume I never cry.
Written by Francesca Shaw
22nd March 2020
very dark day for a mum- but I will hold on a little bit longer to that rope
The Wise Womb Woman 
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