Tag Archive | strength

Broken Wings

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—

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.

But…

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.

 

 

 

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