There are days, oh there are days.
You don’t have to get back on the bike.
Admit you’re too tired to pedal.
You’ve gone as far as you can.
Abandon the fucking bike.
It’s 3 am. I’m holding vigil, what ever that means. Really I’m freaking in, worried sick and at the same time grateful.
My son checked himself in yesterday with the help of his older brother. I remember when they were the cutest little shits and I could make it all better with a snoopy band-aid, a hug and a freezy pop.
The days of all 4 boys running around without a care. Skinned knees, bloody noses, snotty tears………
Fuck you life. Fuck you and the heavy burden you place on the youth today.
I think of friends and family members with struggling children. What are we supposed to do?
I am reminded of funerals attended. Friends of the boys who succeeded in snuffing out their lives.
We are no stranger to this thing called depression. It has been an uninvited visitor many times.
Where the hell did I leave my roll of bubble wrap? You know, the one you keep hidden in the closet. You’re sure you’ve wrapped the kids in at least 10 layers.
Honey, there’s a gaping hole in your bubble wrap. Please let me fix it. I’ll have it patched up in no time.
If only it were enough………………if only………I forgot, you’re an adult now. My magic bubble wrap became invisible…..
Fuck you life.