Unmet needs

I close my eyes and feel the heat rising in my chest, the burning sensation as my heart throbs, the pain of unmet needs and broken expectations, the crucible of volatile emotions bubbling like molten lava.

I launch myself off of my bed. I grab the curtain pole with both hands and pull downwards with all my fiery energy, ripping the attachments out of the wall, shards of plaster scattering down around me. Taking one half of the pole, I use it like a giant mallet and start to smash the furniture nearest me, releasing the rage burning within. I lower it onto the wardrobe like an axe cutting timber in a forester’s yard. The soft pine splinters instantly, the loud cracking providing some respite for my torment. I quickly turn my weapon sideways and launch it into the ointments and creams sitting politely on our shelf. They fly across the room as the pole crashes through them and I watch as they thud and thwack against the bedroom mirror and faded eggshell walls. The hardwood shelf breaks in two and absorbs my energy as I turn back to the windows, silently shouting “I hate my life!”

This cry of deep anguish; a cry of despair, of hopelessness. I feel so alone, so stuck, frustrated — like a marble in some cruel game, surrounded by blue slides, impossible to get out. Rage is the natural response as I survey my limitations and restriction. Where is my freedom?

I’ve asked for help so many times. I’ve called out and it has fallen on deaf ears. But then I am confused — have I really, authentically, called out? Do I even know how to call, my screams are silent after all. I encourage my children to specify their requests, but those words are advice for myself that I so often fail to heed. You see, I was never taught how to ask for help.

Let’s take a step backwards. I need to know my needs before I can communicate them. Oh, for someone to know my needs! Then I would not have to look inwards, then I would not need to see that pain, to lift the heavy bandages and smell that putrid wound. It has been easier to ignore and press through, face wrapped in scarf, walking into the unknown wilderness like some arctic explorer, head down, doggedly pushing on, but alone and increasingly cut off from support.

My eyes still closed, I remain on the bed, sleep a distant target now. My heartbeat steadies as questions flood my mind. When will my needs be met? Who is looking after me?