A Little Piece Of Me

Have you ever seen the sculpture of Atlas? The man with the world on his shoulders? Many days I feel a lot like him. The burdens and pains of everyday life are layers of weights upon my shoulders. And as if that isn't enough, my insecurities about myself are like fingers constantly pushing those weights down, relentlessly waiting for me to fall to my knees.  Sure. There have definitely been days where my knees are scraped to the bone. Most notably the loss of my mother. Some days it feels like a dream. A horrible horrible nightmare that I play back over and over sometimes. It's almost unbelievable that she's gone. I still wake up and expect to hear her voice. Whenever I'm out late or away from home, every text I get, a part of me gets nervous anticipating her to ask me when I'm coming home. But then a part of me dies inside when I realize that those texts, that I used to get annoyed by, aren't coming anymore.  The hardest part is not having her around to talk to, to learn from, to celebrate with, to cry with and to be comforted by. My achievements and heartbreaks are experienced alone, without guidance or support from the person who knew me the best.  But it's a rare occasion that you'll ever see me show this weight and pain. Because despite the shitty hand I've been dealt in this card game called life, I cover it up with smiles and sarcastic humor. In the quiet comfort of my apartment, those fears and weight and pain take over and I'm reduced to a weeping, sobbing mess. I do my best to take care of everyone else, regardless of my needs or wants.  Yes I hurt. Yes I'm shitty at relationships and I don't know how to fix that. Yes I'm alone. But I know how to love and care and I make 110% effort in everything I take on. I just want to figure out a way to make my life better and get many steps closer to things that make me happy.  Until next time, Steph.