At what point do you realize that you are crashing? Sometimes it is easy to pinpoint the moment: the engine dies, the lightening strikes--a quick and decisive event.

But what if you have been flying, not realizing that the ground is getting closer and closer? What if it takes years to fully understand that you aren't really flying anymore? A controlled crash?

Tomorrow will mark three years. Three years since the one stable person in my life left.

It was the engine blowing. I heard the explosion. I felt it blast me from the sky. But at a certain point, after I had taken care of everyone else, after I had begun to have a life again, I thought I was in the air. I thought that I was taking care of business. I thought that I had things under control.

I'm just beginning to realize how out of control I have been. I righted the plane after the engine died, but didn't realize I was losing altitude.

So now, here I am, seconds from impact, and I don't think I have the strength to pull back up. Too much has happened. Too much still weighs on my heart. And new things keep piling on top.

Chez is right. Love is not enough.

I don't know what is happening to me, and I don't know how it is going to end. I just wish I could find some solace.


Spit it, betch!