The Many Faces of Eve, or I Quit.

I have mentioned before the warring factions in my head. You may remember that I said they choose opinions at the exact opposite point of the spectrum from one another solely for the purpose of driving me mad.

And, there you have it. The quitting. The juxtaposition of truly living life and remaining indifferent to it. Insulating myself against its pains and disappointments.

When I was working - both before and after motherhood - I fantasized a number of different ways to escape my life. I dreamt of taking a sabbatical from work and checking myself into one of those facilities where your every movement is watched. Where you wake at a certain time, make your bed a certain way, share a bathroom with ten other women, attend meetings, outings, and support group counseling sessions with said women. Where you are told when you can eat, sleep, watch TV, make a phone call, have a visitor.

Sometimes, I feel so completely cut loose from myself that I crave the structure other people - professionals - can provide. Maybe it's the Girl Scout in me. Maybe the recovering drug addict.

One time, I did it, but mostly, it was just a fantasy. To take a step back and quit being crazy.

On the other side of this coin is the desire for mania. I wonder if others can comprehend that need; what it is to be driven to create madness out of nothing but thin, imagined things. To drive miles at night in familiar territory while your brain is on autopilot only to wake and realize you might have died. You might have done terrible things. And no one was with you, so how would you know?

You would not. You also would not know how to quit.

At least at first.

Here is a poem I wrote about it -

I quit.
Simple words that form a simple sentence. [Fragment.]
The sentiment is not simple. It is complex.
It’s complicated.
An overused, disabused articulation. [Fragment.]
Problematic in that, when I choose to use it
Appropriately
I am misunderstood by the majority.
And the minority is oh-so-quiet
These days.
Until they’re not.
Let’s go back to the original thought that provoked such a statement as:
I quit.
I quit my job. [Positive.]
I quit drinking. [Positive?]
I quit caring. [Negative.]
I did not quit caring. [Positive.]
I am walking a tight rope of caring and not-caring
I am in no fit condition to do so
My balance is off due to the ever increasing girth of
My middle.
My hormones are playing tricks on an already
Tricky mind.
Insomnia is not responding to my defiance.
Her scorn is bitter tannins after I imbibe.
I quit trying to defy
That which is not susceptible to insolence
And so,
I write.

Sane

2009

2010

2011

2012

Not Sane
  

2009

2010

2011

2012

2012

Undetermined....

1997?

1997?

1999?