When I was younger, I believed I had the world at my fingertips–
that all I had to do was reach out and grab whatever I wanted in life.
When I was younger, I believed I could do anything– be anything–
that all I had to do was just be me because it would be enough.
When I was younger, I believed that hearts never broke, words never stung–
and that all there was in life was happiness waiting to be claimed.
When I was younger, I was skinny, and beautiful, and strong–
and I could run and swim and bike and play ball with the best of them.
When I was younger, I thought the sun rose each day just for me–
and the moon was simply a nightlight to help me get where I needed to be.
Today, I am commended for my strength–
my ability to take on every last piece of crap that gets thrown at me.
Today I am known for my sarcasm–
my ability to deflect negativity– or to, perhaps, egg it on.
Today, I am known for my helpfulness–
always ready to lend a hand to someone in need.
Today, I am known for my academic ability–
I can write papers with the best of them!
Today, I need to be known for what– and who– I really am.
I am not strong–
I am one panic attack away from a total breakdown.
I am sarcastic–
but it is used to deflect the hurtful comments, the unintentional insult.
I am helpful–
to the extent I have no time to do for myself, and no desire left to, either.
I am smart–
yes, I’m smart– but I’m also anal retentive and OCD about my grades– even though they mean nothing in the real world.
I am closed off.. shut down.. unavailable for emotions.
If you see them, you are one of the lucky few.
I am in denial–
I refuse to believe that certain things are the way they are.
I am lazy and unmotivated–
It takes almost all of my physical strength to pull myself out of bed in the morning.
If it were not for my children, I would have nothing for which to do so.
I am deeply depressed–
yes, I front well. I talk a good game. I make people believe I am doing just fine.
Inside I am dying.
I am a loner–
as I sit here, alone, on a Saturday night– I realize that I have very few people that I could even call– and even less that would answer.
I miss my mother–
even though our relationship was a disaster, I miss her terribly each and every day– today was especially difficult.
I am unhealthy–
and, no– I am not simply talking about the extra packaging–
the diabetes, the insomnia, the resulting narcoleptic feeling, cigarettes.
I use food as a crutch. Along with my cigarettes.
Sometimes, I find more comfort in a bag of chips then I find in the people that ‘care’.
I shift the burden of my problems–
not to someone or something else, but rather, into a closet where I cannot see them.
If I can’t see them, they cease to exist– even if for just a short while.
I make MANY mistakes–
some of which I recognize….. but repeat nonetheless.
I still believe the words spoken to me by someone who was supposed to love me:
“You will never have anyone take you seriously. No one listens to a fat person.”
And then I eat more.
I am setting a poor example for my children–
but I do not know how to stop!
I must lead by example, but just cannot seem to find the manual from which to find instructions on how to be a perfect single mother.
I dread mirrors. And clothes shopping. And pictures–
yet, I want my children to believe me when I tell them they are absolutely perfect in every single way—
But, I cannot even look at myself without disgust.
I want to learn more, do more, be more–
but I will not take the initiative for fear of looking stupid when I fail.
I want to be perfect in the eyes of someone– anyone.
I decide to make changes–
so I write list after list after list of what needs to be done.
And then I do nothing. Cannot fail at something you do not attempt.
I also have deeply rooted desires.
I have dreams.
I have ideas and goals.
I have hope— though it is sometimes so buried in that closet of problems that I just cannot find it….
I type this post– not as an attempt to garner sympathy or unwarranted compliments–
but simply to put a description to myself.
To put a voice to depression.
To produce a ripple– a wave– some kind of movement that allows others to see they are not alone.
To recognize that I may have broken wings, and even though I hurt physically and emotionally—
I still want to fly.