Fragile Heart


Why do you do this to me February? Only two days in, wind howls, grey clouds move across sky, across body. Heart beats, tightness, no sleep. Rain drops at 3:00AM, I want to love the sound, but I need the rest. Can’t shake death. February, why are you so addicted to death? You won’t take me, you won’t. I won’t become one with the wet soil, my ashes won’t flow down the stream, over the moss and smooth rocks, roots. Not Yet.  What do the numbers mean? I imagine my veins thick with greasy oil, ready to block up any time. I don’t like to be sick, I especially don’t like this kind of sickness. One that’s haunted me for years, one that I fight against with all my might. But I’m always defeated. I realize there’s oil in everything, I look at the labels. I never thought to look for oil in pasta sauce, I didn’t think oil in the pan when I cook veggies would matter. I thought avocados and nuts were good for me. I realize I eat a lot of fats. My body can’t handle it. I lay awake last night worrying about how to eat only vegetables and no oils. I start to take an anti-anxiety pill again. My mind can’t handle this fear of death. I remember my mom laying in the hospital bed, her body shutting down after a massive heart attack. She’s too young, I thought. She was so healthy, I thought.  “NO OIL” the book says. You can reverse your heart disease, it reads.  Can I? Can I fight this? Why is everything a fight, a struggle, such hard work? I got in my studio today and that was good. I took my dog for a long walk and ate salad and oatmeal. Today I’m tired, burnt. Last week was rough. February is here. Birth stories, wild flowers, green grass, rainbows. I will fight to heal my body, even though I feel like I do so good at keeping myself heathy, that’s the most depressing part. And the memories of my mom and my possible fate. No matter what I do. It’s scary and sad and I feel fragile.

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About Dirty Laundry Blog

Thoughts on Motherhood Through the Eyes of an Artist