Weight of the World

Another fight over nothing really. Another temper tantrum. Another nagging session. Another piece of bullshit. I am tired. Worn out. Stressed. I feel as though the only release I can give myself comes in tears and leaves me drained. I stare at my puffy red eyes in the mirror, feel the heat of my swollen cheeks, gripping the edge of the bathroom sink in an attempt to control my breathing through my mouth since my nose becomes useless. I stand there in front of me wondering how in the hell did I get in this shit again and yet all I can remember is the past; the times before in which I stood the way I am standing, cried the way I am crying, trying to catch my breath. Lost in the moment of everything gone wrong. No need for tissues. Just rinse with water every few minutes.

I was told something that night. Something I knew before, but never let sit: “You carry with you the weight of the world.”

Meaning everything is a big, fucking deal. Everything is. Everyone’s problem becomes my own. They are mine. To me, it is all a domino effect. And as we know, shit rolls downhill. I feel I have to do something, anything to carry the load off their shoulders. I know I do this to help them realize how much I can do and have done for them. To give what I expect back. So that they will not turn their backs on me. So they won’t walk away.

Then again, this I did for people who are no longer in my life.

People come and go. I’ve said this countless times. Memories linger. Staining my mind with endless possibilities of it happening all over again. A boyfriend cheats = all men are dogs. A best friend stabs you in the back = all girls are bitches. A close friend wants more then you can give = friends are temporary. Life sucks = Life SUCKS. Nothing is guaranteed. No matter what, shit happens. And like my Ate says, “In the end, we die anyways.”