Why? What’s the point? If it wouldn’t effect my kids I’d do it. To be at peace. Finally free. The memories of my childhood. Waking up every single night, multiple times, totally locked. Every muscle in my body contracted. Spending an hour or more every three hours concentrating on relaxing each muscle group. Unlocking my jaw. All my teeth are cracked. Constant pain. Spending my days writing down to do lists only to waste hours wondering around my house working on multiple projects yet accomplishing none or fighting to keep my eyes open but feeling no rest or relief. Wringing my hands and feet, inconspicuously interlocking my fingers, screaming on the inside and smiling peacefully for the public. I’m tired. Always. Forgetting details about appointments and conversations yet able and willing to spend hours on fine details of my artwork. Unable to complete thoughts and fallow my children’s sentences. Perfecting the head nod at the right moment and repeating three or four words of a sentence so they think I’ve heard and understood what they’ve said. Only to be asked “rememeber?” repeatedly! The older they get the more I am aware of my inability to listen and comprehend what is happening or supposed to happen. Never at rest. Always moving. Always tired. I’m done. I don’t have the energy to fake this any more. I LOVE my kids! I adore them! How could I end their innocence so abruptly with my selfish desire to end my own internal suffering? Isn’t being a good Mother defined by putting their needs first? Who would find me? What would the reaction be? Would they cry? Call 911? Try to revive me? I can’t put that on them. They are so happy. They have no idea my struggle. They just think I’m silly, flighty, a creative mind. I’m so tired. So alone.