I should be at the bottom of a 300 ft cliff right now. Lying in the cold snow in a mangled Ford Escape. Ironically. Because I wanted to escape. Escape the grim outlook of an ever-darkening world. Escape my aging body and mind that can’t seem to get a handle on life. Escape the fear of not having reasonable retirement plans in the works.

But mostly I wanted to escape the pain of being misunderstand. Escape having to explain, again, my thoughts and feelings. Escape having to try to elicit sympathy for not only my efforts but for the mental vulnerability of my youngest daughter who suffers from severe anxiety and depression.

In fact, right now I’m not even sure she’s ok.

It’s the same with my addicted son who lives 600 miles away in the dingy streets and parking garages beyond the facade of neon lights of Vegas. I usually get confirmation that he’s ok after a day or two of no communication. But its been 5 days now. I hold onto my heart and live in my own world with the mantra of “no news is good news”. My boy is alive in my heart constantly.

But am I?

I’m usually on top of taking care of everyone. Trying to keep them safe and fed. Trying to keep the peace. Oh sure, I sent lunches, said my I love you’s. But I knew that today was different. Today I was gonna go to the top of that slick Icy road with my bare treaded tires. I was going to unbuckle my seal belt and close my eyes as I rammed through the steel bumper guard. I already planned to keep them shut tightly as I felt the tire leave the dirt. I was going to grip the steering wheel with a literal death grip as I felt my stomach drop like it does in airplanes when you hit turbulence.

This turbulence was self inflicted though. There was no wind or storm to blame. No engine failure.

The only failure was me.

Failure to keep relationships going. Failure show love when I was hurting. Failure to adequately explain that I was trying to fix things. Failure to express my needs when I was feeling overwhelmed. Or sad. Or disappointed. Because if I did express those feelings there were sure to be taken wrong.

They always have been. From that little girl to this supposedly grown women, I have failed to use my voice effectively. Many nights were spent in my sheet-less wobbly cot crying as a child.

I can still hear the voices. Listening to my parents fight. Crying over my dead brother who succeeded in suicide. Sobbing and hiding over a careless comment made by a peer.

Here I was again, hiding. Sobbing. Nothing much has changed except 4 or 5 decades. And many people who have had to deal with me between now and then.

I had left that mountain top after spending three hours trying to find the best spot. Analyzing which direction to drive from. Crying. Screaming. Not praying. I was done praying. God had been silent on what direction to help my son. I couldn’t get confirmation that he would live or die. I had given him back to God many times only to beg to have him back. So after an ongoing argument with my spouse about a small furry animal, in which I THOUGHT I HAD ALREADY RESOLVED THE ISSUE; and the resulting ice cold shoulder and sudden missing Good Morning Text after 5.75 years; I decided it was THE DAY.

Yet here I was, back home, writhing in my bed with despair and agony. I had left the mountain because I had a terrible fear that I wouldn’t die. As a nurse, the reality that I might live in a vegetative state cured me from that mode of unaliving myself.

The New Year showed promise of renewed relationships with other family members. I thought the year might be great.

But today I knew.

I knew I would never ever succeed at maintaining the level of happiness and assurance that certain people need. Even having ARRANGED an animal adoption and set boundaries, I was still being held in contempt.

My empath soul can’t do this. I can’t feel all these feelings of others and still survive.

I’ve tried so many things.

Counseling. Books. Tapes. Classes. silence, yelling. Emails. Family “discussions.”

Nothing works.

People might say that my failed attempt at un-aliving means that I didn’t really want it. Akin to an addicted person who fails at sobriety. “They didn’t want it bad enough.” It’s just not true.

I wanted it. I was just too exhausted and underconfident that it would work I headed home with the snow covered windshield and tear covered eyes. I was hungry and tired.

Exhausted. Completely exhausted.

I never thought I would feel so completely dejected and sad at this age of my life.

I will succeed. Sometime. Somewhere. Just not today.