Simpler Days

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I wept for 10 seconds today. I normally don't cry. I can't. Who has the time? The thick, unbreakable layers of my sadness lie at the opposite end of the earth. I'm convinced I can't reach them unless I spend twelve days in an Ayahuasca retreat held deep in the jungles of Peru. Only an old, wise Peruvian shaman could serve me a potion to awaken the dormant part of my brain that harbors the demons within me. At the end of this month I will be moving out of the neighborhood I love and into a house close to the city. For 17 years I've been fighting, working, kicking and screaming to stay in these suburbs. It's quiet and safe, it has the best schools, and I've killed myself to build a life here for myself and my daughter. It's also expensive. I'm exhausted from working so much to pay the bills. And after a year, it may be just me when my daughter heads off to college. That tiny, cheaper, city house just makes more sense. I keep reminding myself of an inspirational quote: "You cannot discover new oceans unless you have the courage to lose sight of the shore." As much as I need change, it is just as scary. My entire life, I've faced all of my changes alone. There's no husband or partner to lean on, to offer security, to say "Everything will be ok. I got you." I must trust myself to land on my feet, which I've managed to do over and over and over again. BUT I AM TIRED. As I get older, the fearless girl I once was gradually fades. The girl who once lived by the beaches of transient cities now likes the quiet, green lawns with the elderly neighbors. I looked around my bedroom today. I stared at all the shit I have to pack and move at the end of the month. I sat on my bed. I thought about a lover I had at the age of 24. Then I wept for 10 seconds, longing for simpler days.

Depressed single mom of a teenage daughter, two dogs, and some goldfish. Hoping for health insurance and a million dollars. Ryan Gosling wouldn't hurt. I also like to write and one day make a film.

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