Baby steps

Perhaps it's because I'm more anxious on Sunday's or maybe it's due to my often overload of thoughts, but I always feel the need for an 'out' on the 7th day. Blame it on sadness, loss or just my terrible habit of keeping things to myself - I've had enough. I'm tired of waking up and faking a smile, hiding the tears the prick up at the most inconvenient of times or simply responding incorrectly to your morning 'How are you'. I'm not good. I haven't been for quite sometime now and I'm sorry if I was too afraid to say otherwise. Asking for help is not my strong suit. I can handle things on my own and would argue like a true feminist if you begged to differ. I'm also not a 'whoa is me' preacher as I truly believe and know that people have it worse off than I. Having said that, I'm also aware that what I have been through, my family has been through, in the last little while has won. I'm broken. It feels like an eternity since I've been myself. So long so that I don't know how to get her back. Everything that use to work has failed, everything I think will work does not and everything I have not thought of yet won't come. Even my creative mind has abandoned me. My eyes are forever a word away from shedding a tear and my throat is sore from clenching them back. Tylenol is now my drug of choice in hopes it will cure my constant aching head - it does not. I head to bed early in hopes of making the sadness of nighttime disappear but am far too often woken by daunting, daunting nightmares. My days are spent craving the sleep I now lack and before I know it the circle starts again. I could go on for hours, but out of everything that has happened, I still lack the selfishness to dump this on an innocent by-stander. If I could however, it would be in a package that says 'handle with care', it would be broken up into small boxes as to not overwhelm just one single person and it would be most certainly delivered at the weeks end.