Seriously, I've realized that the worst kind of guilt that a mother can feel is mommy guilt. And the ones that it hurts the worst from are your own parents. During the time in my life where I finally feel like I'm on a steady and clear path to doing what needs to be done for the benefit of both myself and my baby, an email and a few key spoken words make it all come crashing down.
It was a frail house of cards I built for myself, a flimsy shelter like a mask that the world sees. Then the mommy guilt attacks. A gust of scorching hot wind from the asshole of hell...a hell fart. (Ah, wow.. I'm sitting here manically laughing at my own lame joke. Get a hold of yourself woman!) Weaknesses are exploited and the paper thin walls crumble and burn. I'm left to deal with the ashes, and there's doubt. A heavy weight like a thick glass dome keeping the cooling, cleansing breeze from washing away the dust and igniting the phoenix fire within. Forcing me to pick through the pieces and examine them...second guessing the structure of the life I was building. Here is the birthplace of bitterness and resentment but here it must stay. Leave behind the wild red and orange surface fires, sink into the protective embrace of the calming deep blue flames, and rest and regenerate and rebuild.
There's a whole lot of nonsense in there but within is a lot of meaning. That's more for my purposes for healing. Poetry of my life.
UGHHH.
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