Living in a Box

I feel like I am living in a glass box. Out of one side, I see work, work and more work; on the next side are my children; the third view is domesticity (household chores like cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc); and the fourth is my ex. There is a lid on the top which prevents me from standing completely upright, let alone doing a full body stretch. The walls are close to my body. I can turn around and am able to touch opposite sides with my hands up and elbows bent. There is just enough space for me to be able to crouch or sit with my knees up to my chest. Sometimes there is not quite enough air to breathe, so I am gasping. At times it feels like the walls are closing in on me and I wonder when they are going to crush me into oblivion. It takes all my effort to push the walls back and then I think to myself that it is getting more and more tiring pushing them away from me. At what point does it become meaningless to push? When do you just curl up into a ball on the floor and succumb to the inevitable?

Some days it feels like one of the four worlds outside the box envelops more and more sides of the box. My ex has a tendency to do this. He pushes his way into so many aspects of my life that no matter where I turn, he is there. I feel like I can’t escape him. The thought of being dependent on him in anyway is horrific. It gives him power and leverage. It gives him the opportunity to belittle me and disparage me. He currently is accusing me of a multitude of things related to the business that we have together, as well as berating me for issues related to the children. In the true style of a narcissist, he never concludes a conversation, but opens up multiple ones so that he doesn’t have to be accountable nor proven to be wrong. It is nigh on impossible to get a straight answer from him. He does more weaving and ducking than a boxer.

At all times, I feel like I can’t live a life that I want. I don’t have freedom and I can’t experience anything new. I am constantly restricted. I vacillate between wanting to rage, scream, break and maim and disappearing into a hole to sob helplessly and hope that the earth swallows me whole. I try to numb the pain that I feel by not thinking too much; not feeling into it. I consider doing reckless things or becoming a drunk or drug addict. I try to calm myself by lying in the garden and looking up at the birds and trees, going for walks or having a shower. It just doesn’t have a lasting effect. The rebel in me is desperate some days to shun societal conventions and responsibilities and run away from it all. Just run. The feeling of being oppressed by life is relentless.

I feel alone and isolated. Just me in my box looking out at one of my four views. Nothing new happening here.

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