Hell in a Handbag

Sometimes I go to hell in a handbag.  No thinking, no looking over the shoulder, no wondering and definitely no guilt.  There's a deep dark power that just invades and sends me there, without warning, to a forbidden place and believe me it's no paradise. But I'm seldom ever guilty for going there, as hard to swallow as it may be, it's the only peaceful place I know. 
I try to encounter and face my fears, yet they engulf me and make me think they are so much more appealing then they really are.  I look for an out and that hole opens up right away calling at me to just jump in, the end of life. Yes ticket for one!  It's an easy, breezy type of way, you just soar on out, leave everything behind, don't look back, just ...go.
When I decide to ride on those wings, dark horses, lightening bolts, whatever we may call them, I sleep a deep dark sleep.  It's the kind of breath taking sleep that is seducing, alluring and the never want to end kind of sleep. Peaceful.  Then I wake up and realize I'm no longer at peace but hell in a handbag, the realization of heartache, pain, sadness and loss.  When you've mended yourself together so many times, after awhile the tape doesn't stick, the glue is dried out and the stitching is so torn, you have to say "what else is there?"  I find my handbag out of supplies at times, and in those times it's when I want peace, I want to fall into that hole, close my eyes and just find the end.
The loss is what gets me there most often, even through new arrivals, fun moments, happy smiles, that loss can erase everything.  It's the knowing and facing the fact that it's the one thing we never get back.  So when death rides through to capture and take the ones I hold so close, it leaves an invitation for me as well and it's not the easiest invite to turn down. 
I have to consistently remember I have my handbag and though it takes me places most people would never dream of being, it's my only escape with still living.  It's my hell, my demons, my broken-ness, my every loss, abandonment, heartbreak and memory.  It's what keeps me still here even though at times I feel I'm only inching, I haven't fallen that deep to not be able to climb back out.  Most people fear the dark, un-assuring black hole, but for me it's my peace, even though it suffocates me, it's the one place I can go to feel close to my losses.  Letting go is not my specialty, I'm usually the denial and accept later type.  Is that why my handbag is so special? Tattered, torn, riped almost to shreds but still has a couple strings here and there to hold it together, much like myself.  A couple, it's more then none. 
I can't understand these dark demons, places and thoughts, I don't try to, I've accepted them as part of me.  I feel one day I'll just scream and they'll all come out, to fill the sky with nothing but huge creations of dark clouds and I'll be breathless.  Is that the last breath I'll take before unleashing what breaks me the most?
Some days the loss is greater, it can feel more like it just happened, crushing my soul.  Other days it seems like it's a kite on a string, I can still have control of having them here, but watching them soar high above in pure majestic beauty.  I need thread.
My dark horses are beautiful, but I'm not ready to ride.
The wings are comforting, but I can't seem to stay on.
The lightening bolt ignites me, but I can't control the fire.
My Hell in a Handbag...I just need some thread.