Metaphors


I'm terrified of killing the rabbit.

I literally have nightmares where that is the only thing that has happened. The rabbit is dead and I am terrified, so terrified that I wake up sobbing.

I know that lots of people go about this everyday. I work with them, I go to church with them, I ooh and ahh over pictures and bibs. It's a natural part of life and one most people look forward to but I just can't.

Because I have my own issues. I have my own needs. I have a mental state that I work very hard to keep balanced each day. I need my naps. I need my quiet time.

I need.

And I know that my needs would have to be maybe not my last concern but certainly down the totem pole a bit from the top. The rabbit.

There is some bit of me that still wonders if my mother would not have been quite as troubled had she never killed the rabbit, had I not come along. It makes me wonder about myself and my own abilities.

I love Youth. I love kids. I'm sure I would love and care for my own, but the idea of it makes me want to vomit.

WBH tells me not to worry about it. That we're taking precautions. If it happens it is a God thing.

It's hard to admit that I know all of that and still am terrified. God has thought me up to a lot of things in my short life. I'm not sure I am up to this or ever will be.

I’m a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf’s big with its yeasty rising.
Money’s new-minted in this fat purse.
I’m a mean, a stage, a cow in calf.
I’ve eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there’s no getting off. 
Metaphors - Sylvia Plath

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