I’m tired and I’m broken. No one should have to handle all this alone. All the responsibility. All the stress. All the pain. Never any real help. No support. Just more responsibility and demands being made to provide even more of what someone else needed. This own self fading fast. And more stress from being unable to provide the extra on top of the normal due to an already burned out and broken down, broken hearted state of being. A mental and emotional state of being, firmly lodged beneath an ever spinning cloud of uncertainty and questioned reality. Never able to fully and functionally express true, whole thoughts or feelings. The hidden parts silently cowering in fear waiting for the next catastrophic blow. Unsure whether to prepare this time for an implosion or explosion on a mind so fragile, the frayed edges already drifting away unnoticed. A physical state of being so deprived of rest and reconstruction, so depleted of chemicals, so dry and withered and unresponsive, that the cells themselves feel only hopelessness deep within the nothing. A dream broken and lost along the way. A soul, that always felt knowledgeable and traveled and light and true, reeling from the sear of the first strikes of darkness and malign it never even knew existed. Now afraid of what comes next instead of her usual free journey from life to life, adventure to adventure, love to love. Nothing of myself left. A shell of who I once was. Lacking the strength or fight or possibly even desire to try to pull myself back together. So here I sit. This version of me. Trying to figure out how to keep up and do all the things that even the whole, fairly well adjusted, me couldn’t seem to manage. Alone. Years blurred by. Fragments of memories, all bound in certain uncertainty of which may have been feigned. Which smiles and words genuine. If any ever were. Was any of it ever real? The one question to which the truest, most paramount of answers will never be known. And that is just too much for my being and soul and especially my heart. Too much pain and sadness in this one little life, and I can’t chance the sacrifice, of the tissue paper thin pieces I have left of myself anymore, to hope.