It isn't going to change, is it?
It's too deep. Like an anchor pulling you back to old ruins.
I'm spinning in circles. I'm dragging my heart behind me, yelling at it to get up and face the truth.
I'm too tired.
Too tired to look it in the eye. Too tired to carry a sliver of someone else's burden. Too tired to pretend there isn't an avalanche in every breath.
In. Every. Breath.
Listen. That rasping exhaustion is the only sound left.
And it's fading.
I want to defend. I want to see hope in ... something.
But this is why I write codependent in my book. This is why I spell my own name while glancing at your's.
I'm struggling to make something out of nothing. I'm fighting for someone who thinks that fighting for me means scraping the film off of the top and calling it clean.
It's not clean.
I can't even say that this is where I stand now. How could I?
This is where I've crumbled for tonight.
What the hell will it be tomorrow? Still broken. Always broken.
But not a victim, because victims are afraid of the light. Victims hide. Victims are ruled by fear.
I've spent enough time in the grip of fear, wearing that victim shroud.
But done being a victim.