Mean Girl

She says "No offence but..." and then says something completely offensive to me.

She says "I hope you dont mind but..." and then says something that she knows I will mind

She excludes me and makes me feel like a third wheel in my own friend group when she is the one who is new. And then says (to other people, mind you, not to me!) that she feels sad I took it personally. Because of course, it has to be me thats oversensitive,. I take things personally. It can't be that she was just a "mean girl".

When she hijacked my lunch plans, I said nothing. When she just automatically joined our friend group, I treated her like a friend. And THIS is how I get treated in return.

And my friend says to me "you're being sensitive". "you're just feeling anxiety and its coming out this way", It hurts.

It all hurts.

Sometimes I think why make friends at all.Its so hard to find someone who you actually click with and then something always happens. Or someone. And then you're left with your heart wide open with stab wounds and buried knives.

And pain.

Its time to practice being alone again. I know how. It just takes a little work closing the wounds.

Starving

Trying to explain how she was feeling was like trying to explain how one felt when slowly suffocating to death. How do you explain something that is only explainable as the lack of something else?

When the oxygen is being diminished in a room, you don’t immediately notice. You breathe normally and your body compensates. The air gets thinner. You compensate again by unconsciously taking shallower breaths. Talking becomes slightly difficult. Then more difficult. You notice that movement makes you tired more easily. So you begin to limit your movements and words. Your head starts to feel full of cotton wool. It becomes harder to think. Suddenly there's a breaking point and your body realises that the air is almost gone. You begin to gasp and cough, your body spasming in an effort to expel the imaginary thing blocking your air supply. But there is nothing blocking it. There is just no more air in the room. Deprived of this life giving force, you lay down, close your eyes and begin to die.

At this point, you can still be saved. If you were removed from the room, your body would gasp and start to take in air once more. Even if your body does not recognise the presence of air, you can still be saved. Someone can force your heart to beat, can force air into your lungs until your body remembers that in order to live, it must breathe, the blood must flow.

Sometimes, of course, its too late. No matter how hard your saviour works, they cannot make your heart start beating again, on its own, in time. They cannot force your lungs to expand and contract without help. You are essentially brain dead. There is no person left in that body, there is just a machine pumping air into lungs and making the blood flow.

She knew she was not dead yet. But she was slowly starving. Talking was more difficult. Movement made her tired. Thinking was like grinding blood from a stone. She was gasping, spasming, fighting. But its not too late.

What I see

Do you remember how you used to hold my hand? It felt like you would never let go.
You would look at me with such love in your eyes, like you would fight lions for me. Fight tigers.

The world could fade away and disappear when you held me in your arms. When my head rested on your heart, my world would narrow to just that slow, constant thump.

I miss you.

I hate fighting with you.

It feels like a piece of me is shattering every time we do.

It hurts me that you think I'm fat and unattractive. We've both grown older in the 14 years since we met. Our bodies are not those of children anymore. I've had a child and that leaves its mark. I've lost a child and that's left its mark as well. We've been through a lot, you and I. Depression has caused both of us to pick up and lose weight at various times.

I love you.

You're not the skinny, quiet, depressed boy I met. You've grown in confidence even as you've grown in height and weight. And you've grown as person into a man that I respect.

Attraction comes in many forms. I am attracted to the wonderful father that you are. I am attracted to the caring husband you are. And I'm attracted to the wonderful son that you are to my parents and yours. When I look at you, that's who I see.

I don't see the belly hanging over your belt. I see the giggles that belly inspired in our child when she tickles you. I see the strength in your arms as you lift her up to swing her about. I see that same strength that you use to give me back and foot rubs when I am in pain. And I see the comfort you inspire when wrap your arms around me and tell me that everything is going to be okay.

Why can't you see me and be attracted to me and not be distracted by bulges and love handles?

Don't ask, don't tell

The other day,
I screwed up my courage,
drew a deep breath and
told you a long held secret.

I bared to you a hidden piece of my soul,
a piece raw and blistered from the
constant
rubbing
of the seething mass of
shame
confusion
guilt.

I drew into light

that which had been hidden in the darkness
for half the span of my life.

I waited

in a breathless agony for you to say something
but your words

when they came

were a confusing - disappointing - mix of
legalities and culpability in the eyes of the law.

As you spoke, that piece of my soul began to
slowly
pull away and hide,
back into the darkness
the rawness hidden away behind layers of
gauze and sticky tape and makeup.

The high walls and barbed wire littered with
keep out signs
ensuring once more that the
horrors
buried in their graveyard
will not rise for you again.

Superman (It's Not Easy)

~ Five for Fighting

I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naïve
I'm just out to find
The better part of me

I'm more than a bird,
I'm more than a plane
I'm more than some pretty face beside a train
It's not easy to be me

I wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
'Bout a home I'll never see

It may sound absurd but don't be naïve
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed but won’t you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
And it's not easy to be me

Up, up and away, away from me
Well, it's alright
You can all sleep sound tonight
I'm not crazy or anything

I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naïve
Men weren't meant to ride
With clouds between their knees

I'm only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
Inside of me, inside of me [2x]

I’m only a man in a funny red sheet
I’m only a man looking for a dream
I’m only a man in a funny red sheet
And it's not easy.
It's not easy to be me.

The Best of me

Dear reader, this is an attempt at another positive post. Let me know if I succeeded.

Too often, I get into a fixed loop of negative thinking where I tell myself I am a failure. That I will never be good enough, that the people who love me deserve better. Today's post is an exercise in positive thinking. When i say positive thinking, I don't mean telling myself "Everything is awesome!" Aaand queue the song. No, what i am referring to is the direct opposite of my negative thought loops. I am going to spend this post talking about what makes me wonderful. What makes me worthwhile as a person. And why I am a success. 

This is, of course very difficult for me, because we were always taught to "praise everyone but yourself". But just because something is difficult, does not mean it is not worth doing. Quite the opposite in fact. I have found that the difficult things are the things that are the most worthwhile. They give you a sense of achievement. And make you grow as a person. This brings me to the first good thing about me. I have grit. I am strong-willed and determined and if I deem something worth doing, I will persevere and do everything in my power to get it done. It does not matter the obstacles, the difficulties, I will stubbornly, determinedly push on.

To balance that strong will, i am pragmatic. Realistic. I have to be, otherwise that stubbornness becomes an extreme and switches over into a negative trait. One that would force me to blindly push my way down a path even when that path is no longer feasible. I can generally see clearly when a path will not work for me and am flexible enough that I can stop myself from banging my head against a brick wall.

And so we come to my next positive trait. I am balanced. I crave balance and order in most areas of my life and so I am constantly aware of the possibility of tipping over to one side or the other. This need for balance makes me, in my opinion, a fairly stable person, but it can also confuse others into thinking that I am not. This is because I compensate constantly on one side or the other to maintain what I consider the middle ground. This makes people think that I am not a very calm or stable person.

My sense of responsibility is also very well developed.Once I have taken ownership of a task or project, I will never let you down, even to the detriment of myself. In that regard, I am extremely trustworthy. If you entrust me with something, you can rest assured that it will be taken care of.

I am a leader. I consider true leaders to be people who lead from the front, by example. A true leader never requires more of others than they require of themselves. I teach by example and will often take more onto my shoulders to spare those who look to me. I give my best and expect the same from others. 

I am honest and straightforward to the point of being blunt. I don't often prevaricate and find small-talk pointless. This means that you will always know where you stand with me. If I am avoiding you, you can probably take it as a sign that I am trying not to say something will offend or hurt you. If you force the issue an prevent me from doing what I can to avoid a confrontation, you will end up hearing some unpleasant truths.

i am fairly intelligent and, though i am not necessarily good at everything, I excel in my chosen fields of specialization.  I am often able to see to the heart of a problem and find innovative solutions by thinking outside the box. I also have a good grasp of the bigger picture enabling me to see potential ramifications of any given course of action. I see in shades of gray rather than pure black and white. 

I am passionate and loyal and a good listener. I have an extensive vocabulary that comes from my love of reading and of writing. i am an excellent organizer, often thinking of things that others have missed. I am creative and artistic, even though I cannot draw. 

And that's me. Those of you who know me, is this how you see me?

To my mummy

To my Mummy

I love you. I know I'm not always the best at showing it and I know that sometimes I drive you crazy (and vice versa!), but through it all you have been the most amazing, steady, calming force in my life. You are the person who makes things happen. The person I know I can always turn to, count on, no matter what.

I may not be the best or most perfect daughter in the world, but you've always loved me anyway. Through my tantrums and my meltdowns, my anxiety and my depression, you have always been right there to comfort me or to snap me out of it.

We fight occasionally, as most mothers and daughters do, but even in the midst of it, you have never walked away. I don't think you ever could. So, even though you will say it's not necessary,  that you're my mummy and there's no need for thanks between us, I still want to say Thank you!

Thank you for raising me and for doing whatever it took to get me to where I am today.  I have never made it easy, but your strength has never wavered. I am grateful for all you have done for me and continue to do. You are my mummy, my mom, my friend, my confidant. And I love you.

PS: You asked me write something happy. Something positive. To stop focusing on the pain and the negative. When I tried to, you were what I thought of. Your love is the most positive thing in my life.

Do you remember that girl?

 ~ A mirrored pool

Do you remember that girl?
     Who trailed after you
     Longing to be included,
     But was laughed at,
     And told she was too young
     And too dumb
     And a tattletale
     When she had never said a thing?

Do you remember that girl?
     She used to wear 2 plaits to school
     and you would grab them and say "giddy up, horsey".

Do you remember, 
     she got put into B group for writing
     and would disappear into the bathroom
     every time it was writing period.

Do you remember her?
     She got chicken pox that one year
     and when she returned to school,
      there was a new girl sitting
     in her place in class
     and all her friends had abandoned her.

Do you remember,
     she was the only one who had to wear glasses
     and so everyone called her "4 eyes"?

Do you remember that girl
     Who said "Mommy, am i as pretty as [family member]?"
     Who was told "Looks aren't everything"
     Who was told to be smart instead?

Do you remember her,
     she was the last one in class
     to be allowed to use a pen.
To this day,
     she is more comfortable with a pencil.

Do you remember that girl
     who thought she liked a boy
     and that boy started to pretend she didn't exist?
Oh and that year that everyone decided they hated her,
Do you remember that?
Do you remember her book,
     "Comfort Herself"
     that was her only company
     that you took from her
     that you teased her about?

Do you remember
     how you locked her in the toilets
     and wouldn't let her out
     until the bell rang to go back to class?

Do you remember
     how you wouldn't leave her alone
     until she got so upset
     she threw the apple she was eating right in your eye?

Do you remember
     that time you punched her in the chest
     so hard
    it hurt to breathe for a week?
Or when you hit her in the face with a volleyball
     and her glasses almost broke?

When you wrote on her commemorative photo,
     "Don't get any more pimples".

Good times,  right? Those kids just do the darndest things!

And the last year you knew her, do you remember
     how she had no friends?
     And how another boy she liked decided she didn't exist?
     And when she refused to go to school after exams were done
     until the teachers phoned
     to insist
     she come for the awards?
     She scooped up most of the awards in spite of you?

Do you remember
     that new girl in high school?
     She didn't know anyone
     and no one wanted to be her friend
     because she had been
     assigned
     the least liked person as her mentor.

Do you remember
     how she scraped together
     a group of friends
     over the period of 3 years?

Do you remember,
     How she lived in fear of losing them
     when she almost got assigned
     to the second class for physics?
     The anxiety that day was excruciating.

Do you remember the boy she fell in love with?
     How she would have done anything for a kind word or smile
     How she trusted him with her feelings
     How he betrayed that trust
     How he caused her to be ostracized
     And laughed at
     And called "stalker"

Do you remember the second boy she fell in love with?
     How he called her fat?
     But she married him anyway.
     How he betrayed her trust
     But she forgave him anyway.

None of you remember
     "We were young"
     you will say.
     "Just kids"
     "Who remembers such things?"
But she remembers.
     That girl.
     She cannot forget.

Authenticity

Note: This post veered off from its planned content. Never fear, I will pick up the loose threads in a future post.

So I know things have been quiet on the blog front lately, and those of you waiting with bated breath for the next pearls of wisdom to drop from my pen, have been patient enough. There have been many things that I have been coming to grips with over the past 2 years that I haven't felt able to blog about. Hence the silence. The odd post here and there have given hints of it, hints that all has not been well, but for the most part I have stayed silent on the topic.

Part of that was probably denial. If I don't talk about it here, the place where I have bared my soul and shared my pain, then its not real. Part of it was also anxiety and embarrassment.

You see, when I started this thing, I had only a few readers, people who knew everything anyway or random strangers who stumbled here. It was a private-public expression of the madness in my head. Since then, however, my readership has grown to include people who know me personally and yet don't know me at all. And people whose good opinion matters greatly to me. And also people who I fear my words will wound unnecessarily.

This led to some soul searching as to what can I really say on here. Can I really rip off the masks and bare my soul when I know people are watching? And if I cant, is there really a point to this blog? This was supposed to be the one place where I was the most authentic version of myself. Where I have no need of masks to hide behind. Where I can be me and damn the consequences.

I have been struggling with this question for a while and I have come to realize that if you, my readers, keep coming back here, its because  you want to know the true me. If you have gotten to this point with me without running screaming into the night, then don't I own it to you not to don the mask once more? Don't I owe it to myself to see if the true authentic me is worth more than the dozens of masks I continuously wear?

Do any of you love me for me, exactly as I am at my core, at the deepest recesses of my mind and heart? Am I enough? Just me, no shields, no masks, no "happy face"?

Protecting vs Smothering

Being a parent is hard. There are so many ways you could screw up your child, it terrifies me. Take, for instance, my current dilemma. I have pretty strong OCD tendencies and am a fairly detail-oriented person. While these personality traits have been helpful in certain aspects of my life, they have also been detrimental in others. They flip into negative qualities very easily.

So when I see those same traits manifesting in my beautiful child, I’m left wondering what to do. I never ever want her to feel like she isn’t enough or perfect to me just as she is. But at the same time, I want to protect her from a world that does not accept or respect people with these kind of idiosyncrasies. People who are different. People who are not identical to the cookie cutter cut-out that is viewed as “normal”. 

So when I see her mirroring some of the same compulsions I have managed to hide or repress or disguise, I don’t know whether to feel a spurt of pride that she is like me, or fear that she is.  Then I wonder what if perhaps the wonderful combination of traits that is uniquely her isn’t exactly what the world needs. As a mother, I am pulled in two very strong very opposing forces in every decision I make. I want my child to fly, to be the very best version of herself she can possibly be. But opposing that is my need to protect her from the slings and arrows of a world that has already dealt harshly with me.

“She will never go through what I did!” I once swore passionately, overflowing with love for this tiny beautiful creature who had somehow come from me. But I refuse to clip her wings with fear. I won’t destroy her by smothering her with my protection. I want her to be strong. I want her to be confident and self-assured. I want her to live and learn and make mistakes and have towering victories. None of that will happen if I give in to my protective instincts. 

But there is still that little whisper inside. “What if I can save her from even one iota of the pain I have gone through?” Is it not my duty as her mother to protect her? How can I just stand back and do nothing? Should I not be teaching her what the world will and will not accept?

But in trying to give her these tools to protect herself, would I be protecting her or making her feel inadequate? Sometimes we do the most harm in trying to avoid it. Sometimes we cause more pain by trying to guard against it. 

And maybe the world has changed? What if my being in it has indefinably changed my little part of the world? What if all of us in our generation have changed the world simply by being in it. What if the changes we have wrought would have been enough to ensure that her differences are celebrated instead of reviled? It has often been said that our generation places more emphasis on individuality and personal fulfillment. Perhaps this focus will be enough. It will have to be. All I can think to do is, stand here, ready to comfort, to shower her with love and acceptance, if the world has not changed enough. The risk that it hasn’t is not worth the sacrifice of all that she could be.

Pressure cooker

I have at least 2 more posts in progress at the moment, when this came up on my twitter feeds. It struck a chord in me, the thoughts and feelings expressed could have been my own. Even though I am now older and hopefully a little wiser, and as a parent I now understand both sides of the equation, I still have those feelings inside of me.

As a parent, I understand the motivation behind the pressure. As an adult who was once a child feeling the pressure to do well, I accept and appreciate my parents for pushing me to "be the best". I understand why, and even applaud them for getting me to where I am today. I openly acknowledge that I would not be as successful or independent, if it were not for my parents.

But as that child who is now an adult? As that child,  I am still wracked with uncertainty.  As that child,  I am anxious over everything I do. As that child, I live in fear of never doing enough. Never being enough. As that child, these mental blockages have begun to manifest themselves in the adult that I am, as physical ailments.

Before you misunderstand, I am in no way blaming anyone for this. I was the one who took the message "be the best" and internalised it to the degree that it was no longer a positive message. I was the one who took it, combined it with my need for order, structure, balance and perfection, and turned it into something harmful. It was my personality.  My flaw. But knowing this, doesn't take the pain away. Knowing it, does not assuage my need for acceptance. For validation. For being.... enough.

Open Letter about my laziness

"You're lazy. It's ok, I love you anyway."
"He thinks you are lazy."
"I do more than you."
"You get to have breaks in between your duties, like between work and being at home with us, and I don't"
"I think you spend your free time reading or sleeping. That's not actively trying to relax and so it doesnt count. You're just being lazy."

Dear you,

If these words were regularly flung at you, how would you feel and react? Would you feel the need to push yourself even harder to dispel that label, even knowing that the judgement was unfair to begin with? Would you force yourself to keep going, even when you knew you were reaching your limits or even past them?

You wouldn't? Must be just me then. If you know me at all and have followed this blog, you will know that I am constantly battling with my self-esteem and trying to dispel the labels that have been placed on me. One of the side effects of having a self-esteem issue, is that if I am criticized and I can see how the other person reached that conclusion, no matter how incorrect, I will internalize the  label. "He thinks I am lazy? Well I do need more rest than he seems to, therefore I must be lazy."

The problem with this is I then try to prove I am not. I will push myself, and work myself to the bone to prove that I am not lazy. Then, when I collapse from doing this to myself, I simply reconfirm the initial assessment while the things I have done up to that point goes unnoticed. When I have reached that point, where people can suddenly see I am not "fine", that is when there is all this love and care and worry lavished upon me. "You're sick, we need to get you better." "Why are you pushing yourself so hard when I can see you're not well." "You're only going to make yourself worse."

I never know how to respond to this. Me being visibly unwell and pushing myself is no different to me "not looking sick" and pushing myself. The only real difference between the two is visibility. It simply goes unnoticed and gets labelled when I am not visibly unwell. Because that's what was expected. If I look fine, I am expected to be fine. I am expected to have enough energy in my day to do everything you expect from me.And if i take time to attempt to build up those reserves or God Forbid conserve those reserves, then I am simply lazy.

But here's a news flash. "Active relaxing" takes energy too.

Filling the tub, connecting the ozone machine, removing my clothes, getting into the tub, keeping myself from drowning in the tub, getting out of the tub, drying myself ,dressing then drying my hair takes energy. 

Doing yoga takes not only the energy needed while doing it, but drains energy dealing with the pain in my body for the next 3-4 days.

Being sensitive to light and sound means even watching tv or a movie or listening to music, takes energy. Not as much as the first two obviously, but its not a non-issue to me like it is to you.

So if I default to the least energy draining options, I am not being lazy. Reading does for me what computer games seems to do for you. It gives me an escape. While I am reading, I am not crappy old me with the health issues and low self esteem and pain and depression. I am whoever and where-ever the story is. I have a grand adventure or fall in love and live happy ever after. I am beautiful and confident and sexy and whatever else the heroine is. And if she is none of those things, I know that its only a matter of time before she grows and progresses and becomes. Or that the people she encounters will change the way she views herself and reveal that she was always beautiful, if only in their eyes.

And there are times when even reading takes too much. There are times when the most I can allow is to lie in bed or on the couch with my eyes closed.

Because then I know I will have conserved enough energy to ensure I have enough for the things you want from me. Like gyming. Like doing yoga. Like cooking or baking. Like visiting people you have a need to be in contact with.

And also enough energy for the things I need (which ends up taking second place anyway to avoid the laziness label). Like being with the people who matter to me. Like writing. Like trying to inject some form of interest or fun or excitement into a life that has begun to feel pointless.

Closure

Closure. It was something she had longed for, begged for, something she thought she would never receive. In truth, she had all but given up on ever speaking to him again let alone ever knowing why. But that ghastly time was locked away in her mind. Sealed in a tight little box and hidden in a corner to collect dust. Of course it didn't stay sealed. How could it, when the scars on her heart, on her self-esteem, her pride remained fresh enough to seep and bleed a little whenever there was the slightest chance of rejection in her current life.

She didn't think of it, of him, often. The scars were not uppermost on her conscious mind. She had put him and them out of her mind and heart when she had fallen in love with her husband. Her husband. She smiled just thinking of him. The man who had picked up the broken pieces of her and fitted them back together. The man who had tried his best, had worked hard, to heal those wounds. He'd succeeded in growing the shiny new scar tissue over her hurts, but the hurt, rejected girl she had been was still inside. For years, that girl whispered, quietly. "How can he see you the way he says? He's just saying all the right things, he can't possibly mean them. You are not beautiful or amazing or any of the wonderful things he says. You're not worthy of a wonderful man like him."

And when life happened, as it did, and things weren't as wonderful between them because they were tired, irritable or just busy, the voice would be stronger. When things were great and they were closer than ever, the voice would grow quiet, unable to destroy their happiness. But never did it leave completely. There were other incidents that contributed. Ones from before this one and from after. They all served to strengthen that horrible voice, to give it ammunition and power.

Then one day, out of the blue came the opportunity to speak of it once again. To ask why. Why did you do that to me? What did I do to make you treat me that way? And for the first time, he tried to answer her as honestly as possible. "I was young," he said. "I cared too much what others thought and too little about the consequences of my actions. I cared too much about myself and my standing with my friends to realize that I would be hurting you. I didn't even think of it when I lashed out at you."

Honest, yes. Apologetic even. It would do.

As he castigated himself and swore that the incident had changed him, that he'd become cautious in his words, because of her, she wondered "Is this what closure feels like? Looking into the past with eyes unfettered by hurt, by disappointment, and realizing that what had caused so much heartache was so childish." It was a revelation. Emotions always seem bigger when they are happening.  If you are able to let go of the emotion, time will bring maturity and cool dispassion. Those feelings that she had had would have dissipated quite easily if they hadn't been locked into place by his callous treatment of them. And by her bewilderment at everything that had come after.

Looking at him from the perspective of her life now, she wondered what she could have seen in him, when the man who had chosen her, had loved her even when she was broken, who was her true soul mate, was so very different. Her husband was her other half in a way that no other could ever be.  Closure, she finally understood, was simply a matter of realizing that what had happened was for the best. If she hadn't been hurt before, how could she realize how precious what she had found really was.  She looked around at her home, her husband and her child with a lightness of heart that came from setting down a heavy burden. She was happy.

Song lyrics - Human

You know how some lyrics speak the words that live in your heart unspoken? Today, my husband came to me and said "I heard a song that made me think of you." When he played it for me, it made my heart jump into my throat and stay lodged there. Tears flooded. No, it's not a romantic ballad, it's more. That he understands me that well,that he is able  to think of me when he hears someone singing the words in my heart, that's more romantic and more loving than any love song could ever be.

So, this is me. Those of you know me, who have followed this blog through my ups and downs and long pain filled silences will recognise me in this song. Just as he did.

"Human"
~ Cristina Perri

I can hold my breath
I can bite my tongue
I can stay away for days
If that's what you want
Be your number one

I can fake a smile
I can force a laugh
I can dance and play the part
If that's what you ask
Give you all I am

I can do it
I can do it
I can do it

But I'm only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I'm only human
And I crash and I break down
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
'Cause I'm only human

I can turn it on
Be a good machine
I can hold the weight of worlds
If that's what you need
Be your everything

I can do it
I can do it
I'll get through it

But I'm only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I'm only human
And I crash and I break down
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
'Cause I'm only human

I'm only human
I'm only human
Just a little human

I can take so much
'Til I've had enough

'Cause I'm only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I'm only human
And I crash and I break down
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
'Cause I'm only human

Time and again you betray me,

But fool that I am, I still hope.

Still dream.

Is this constant dashing of hope a penance, I wonder?

Some misdeed

I had perpetrated

In this life or before,

Is this my payment?

I cannot walk away

I am stuck here

And somehow,

I cannot convince myself to stop

Hoping.

Believing.

And every time I begin again,

You betray me.

This body is weak, it will not provide easily,

What others take for granted.

Every step forward must be fought for

Begged for

And even when progress is allowed

There is a price.

Is it worse, I wonder, to face

The betrayals

Or to pay the

Prices

That victory demands?

For every victory, there have been countless

Lost battles.

Stubborn Fool

My heart

Chooses to fight,

What life is there

With no dreams?