So many times I've heard people tell me, “You're so strong,” or “You're one of the strongest people I know.”
But the truth?
The truth is I'm not strong. I'm not that immobile “rock” for you to confess all your problems to, to be your guiding hand or your psychiatrist. Or a shady, fully branched maple tree for you to lean against after a hard day, impossible to move no matter how hard your little human body pushes against my sturdy trunk, offering comfort with my protection from the elements.
The truth is I often lay awake at night, unable to sleep for fear of the nightmares of days when my life was whole. When I didn't have to worry about what tomorrow would bring in the form of health, finances, family problems, or more drama than any one person should have to deal with. When I didn't have to wonder what my idol and best friend would advise me to do in any given situation when I was treading water because I could ask her and receive a verbal answer, and not wind ruffled hair and silence.
The truth is that on my days off, I rarely leave my bedroom, even though it adds to the guilt of not spending enough time with the people who worry and care about me. Adds to the list of things that should be getting done and never do, because bed is so safe and comfortable, and the world is often terrifying and incredibly uncomfortable.
The truth is you start to think you know me, but you only know what I let you see. You only know the band-aid covering the stitches, the mask covering the face. The mask is only a part of me. The real me, the inside me, she is weak, a newborn kitten who cannot take care of herself. She is the melty caramel inside a hard chocolate coating. And while she's growing, she's not as strong as you believe her to be.
Disclaimer: Written in a very “down” mood...
But the truth?
The truth is I'm not strong. I'm not that immobile “rock” for you to confess all your problems to, to be your guiding hand or your psychiatrist. Or a shady, fully branched maple tree for you to lean against after a hard day, impossible to move no matter how hard your little human body pushes against my sturdy trunk, offering comfort with my protection from the elements.
The truth is I often lay awake at night, unable to sleep for fear of the nightmares of days when my life was whole. When I didn't have to worry about what tomorrow would bring in the form of health, finances, family problems, or more drama than any one person should have to deal with. When I didn't have to wonder what my idol and best friend would advise me to do in any given situation when I was treading water because I could ask her and receive a verbal answer, and not wind ruffled hair and silence.
The truth is that on my days off, I rarely leave my bedroom, even though it adds to the guilt of not spending enough time with the people who worry and care about me. Adds to the list of things that should be getting done and never do, because bed is so safe and comfortable, and the world is often terrifying and incredibly uncomfortable.
The truth is you start to think you know me, but you only know what I let you see. You only know the band-aid covering the stitches, the mask covering the face. The mask is only a part of me. The real me, the inside me, she is weak, a newborn kitten who cannot take care of herself. She is the melty caramel inside a hard chocolate coating. And while she's growing, she's not as strong as you believe her to be.
Disclaimer: Written in a very “down” mood...
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