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Sara Bareilles’ Gravity has been playing in my head for weeks now, just there, in the background, on a loop, constant, expected. More and more troubling, it plays and she sings and I slouch into depression.

Today the surf is rough, the wind is blowing, everything’s gray. I take my shoes and socks off and get my feet wet. I want to wade in. I’m lost here, over my head, treading water. The tide is going out, the current pulls at me. I could walk into the water and be free.

I cry on a regular basis. On the way home I stop for a few groceries. Tears on my face surprise me as I wander the aisles. I reach for my phone to call someone, to share what’s happening, but who? Ashley has her own problems and I am not so important to Kelli anymore. I can call my schizophrenic mother, except she’s on dialysis and wants to die. I can call the man I love, the only man I’ve ever loved, the man I waited for 12 years to love me back, the man who never really loved me.

I understand how fragile life is now. The time and money wasted sitting at slot machines, the drugs and partying, the rushing home as quickly as possible everyday to shut everything out….they are all my efforts to escape, escape.

It’s raining in downtown Fort Lauderdale, cloudy, no sun and no optimism. It’s been raining for most of my life. I understand that I will never know the happiness of having a child, owning a home, succeeding. I’m too damaged and fucked up to have a partner who loves me, who could love such a mess? I am bitter and thorny and ugly on the inside. Those few hours when I get lost in a book or curl up on the couch with my babies are all I have, short periods of happiness, almost contentment, almost but never quite enough. Just a few minutes to forget about everything, to let my mind drift away, to be somebody else and not me. I am escaping from my miserable life. I am free.