Who am I without being of service in a way that you say is admirable? Who am I without you? Who hides underneath everyone’s expectations of me?
What happened to the sheer force of my dreams? I try to work on my book, but I’m tired. I try to work on my book, but my brain is fried.
I don’t want to get to know heartbreak again. I am through clinging to broken hearts, the ends of love songs, and falling in lust with passing souls on sidewalks. I am over trading my name for a drink and trading a night for company. I am done not being enough.
I was reminded that shame may always be a companion, that no matter what I do, I can’t wholly undo shame. I don’t blame her, how could I? This is the air we breathe, the water we drink, fault and origin are less relevant than figuring how to feel ashamed and live your life anyway.