Sometimes I really think I just don’t belong here anymore. I look at that oven and I swear it winks at me. It’s like Sylvia really knew what she was doing when she went for that long sleep. Maybe I love her so much because of the strength it took her to kill herself.


I know that killing ones self is supposed to be a weak and selfish act, but I don’t know. I can see that it is also a very strange leap of strength. I can’t imagine making my kids breakfast and then going to off myself in the kitchen. Hell, I didn’t even give birth to any kids and I still don’t have the strength to do it.


I continuously have this false sense of hope.


I keep telling myself that things will get better. The things I need, they will start showing up. I will be placed in the places I need to be and I can take care of myself.


But seriously, nothing happens unless you make it happen.


Why can’t I get up?


Why do I think it is totally acceptable to constantly hurt myself so I don’t have to hurt anyone else?


Why can’t I see that I am doing more damage by hanging on to a dead end?


I see pain in the immediate realm. Why can’t I see that pain can only last for so long until it is replaced by the best joy?


I can fight for anyone else; I just can’t fight for myself. I stand there and just take all the abuse and pain so others don’t have to take it. No one ever says they would do the same for me.


I want someone to say that they will take it.

 I need someone to listen to me and hear me.

I want someone to say to me that we can take turns. I can carry them and they can carry me.


So far, no one can carry me.


I need to loose weight.