Wednesday’s Tears

I only have space to cry on Wednesdays. Seated beneath a steady stream of water I can finally sit forward facing, in the same way I have to face everything coming at me. 

As the water, barely hot enough to be called warm, hits my fragile skin, it embarks on a race to match the speed of the tears falling from my eyes. I reached a place of hope, and I wanted more of that, not more of the same. I can’t fall apart this time. 

Maybe it won’t always be this way. But watching the iridescent bubbles slip down the drain, as if my time and hope were slipping away from me too. 

“It’s too late for me”, is the constant echo deep within the back of my mind. 

And I bury where I’ve been, because shame screams louder than any sense of logic. I bury with it the dreams I don’t tell anyone about, because I feel stupid when I say them. 

“What if I fix my mind, but my body’s still too broken?” 

Today I woke up living on the threshold. Some strange sort of respite between my heart being so heavy, and being more okay than I have ever been. It’s weird how the two can coexist in such a dichotomy. Some middle ground formed between okay and not okay at all, — I am straddled, in the center of the chasm. And it’s kind of a strange feeling, when people say I’m inspiring, because what choice do I have? 

I don’t know how to ask for help. I don’t know how not to bury myself. I don’t want to have to be okay all the time. I don’t want to have to fake being fine, when I’m not. 

I keep telling myself I’m okay. 

Someone told me to say what I need, but I feel like I’m not allowed to have needs. I fit myself into the smallest bottle I can find, so I don’t take up more space than I deserve. A wish held in my soul to be invisible.

I don’t want to do this alone. Have I not been through enough? How strong is one person supposed to be?