Life Down the Toilet

There are times in life when everything collapses inward with a spiraling force as if some demon in Dante’s inferno flushed a toilet situated precisely under your life and the vortex created by the flush sucked your whole life into an inward spiral through the septic lines and leach fields and, directly, into hell.

This is where I’m at now.

But then again, maybe, it didn’t happen in one giant flush. Maybe, there was a sink hole slowly and subtly eroding under the floor boards of my life that I didn’t see, that allowed that evil gremlin’s flush to have such a dramatic effect.

Maybe, I have to do some dreaded self-evaluation … again. If I’m honest, my world began it’s journey into the septic lines when my 15-year-old daughter died in a car accident 7 years ago. I’ve dealt with it the best a mother can deal with such a thing. I went to therapy. I took the medicines. I took the time to heal, to meditate and pray. But, I’ve never been the same, nor will I ever be.

I haven’t worked to my full capacity since the accident. I’ve worked, of course, but not the way I used to. I don’t try to compete, to be the best, to prove something. I have nothing to prove. My savings and income have been making there way out of my bank account and into the proverbial septic lines for years.

And, now, the latest sucker punch from the inferno, a ruptured brain aneurysm. Though I have no neurological deficits, the recovery time has been long and intense, the medical bills, exorbitant. Thus, the funds are finally, depleted. Now, I need to work to full capacity and can’t.  Can’t you hear those little demons laughing?

So, what to do, what to do? Right now, I’m enjoying the imaginary scenario of little demons taking a shit in hell and causing all my problems, but I’m writing about it and so, I guess, working through to the root cause, trying to find the sink hole under my life.

The truth is, I miss my daughter.  I still do. I miss everything about her — her smile, her scent, her very presence. And, I miss being a mom. I miss the family we all had together, me and her and bubby. No amount of therapy or meds will fix that. And time…it does help, it does heal, but it does not heal all things.

Maybe, I’m equating the quality of my life with money and job success too much. In some ways, my life is wonderful – better than most. I have contentment and happiness, but I must admit, I don’t have drive and ambition any longer. I think that died with her.  

I’ve learned to make the most of every day, to appreciate even the smallest sparks and the quietest joys. I take time to garden. I eat healthy and cook like a chef. I make time to write, to introspect, to create. I breathe deeply and fully of this life and the next.  My life is small, but it is full of love and spirit, belief and magic. Until now, it was manageable.

I guess its just the money issue that’s the problem. That, and the lack of ambition to do what’s necessary to make much of it. That is, re-enter the rat race. Go back to the 9-5, or rather, the 8-6 job with the 2-hour commute for the job that requires me to look and act and be a certain way that I simply am not and bow to the money gods that I don’t believe in. But, oh how important money is when there is none of it.

They say necessity is the mother of all invention, and, I never quit, so I guess I’ll start plunging the toilet and see what I can extract from it’s bowels that may benefit my life. They say shit makes good fertilizer.

I’m not crying uncle, yet, so, you little demons, go crap elsewhere.


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