immutablealtruist

[immutablealtruist]

I am white, and I am proud to be white. I am pale, and I am proud to be pale. I will not be made to feel ashamed of the color of my skin. I do not need to tan to alter the way I look for anyone else. I am white, and I am proud.

My ancestors lived in Germany, they were terribly poor. They risked everything to travel to America in hopes of finding better land and a better future. They built a life in the swampy green lands of Wisconsin surrounded by other German refugees. My ancestors didn’t own slaves, they had no dealings in politics, nor did they have time for either. They were hard working farmers, building a life on land which hadn’t been terraformed for farming before they arrived.

On my mothers side my ancestors were Irish and Cherokee. When my Irish ancestors got here, Irish people were a minority discriminated against every bit as much as any black person. They were called out as drunks, swindlers, and filth. Many were indentured servants, which is a fancy way of calling them slaves, for they were not paid and they could not leave.

My Cherokee ancestors lived on this land long before whites or blacks or Spanish lived here. They were a part of great population of people, 6 million strong, with their own complicated system of law and order. When European settlers “found” this land, they wrought disease on the Native population killing 90% of those 6 million people. They stole their land. They forced Native people to move over and over again to satisfy European politics. They promised people land, and stole the land that was promised. They slaughtered, raped, and pillaged Native American settlements. They called them savages, because if people thought they were no more than murderers and cannibals, they would be easier to steal from and murder. You seek to teach critical race theory? Perhaps you should stop bullshitting some agenda to teach that blacks were here first, and tell the truth of the Native people who were here centuries before the first black man stepped foot on this land. Natives have been treated so utterly terrible, that even to this day we don’t speak of the atrocities we wrought on their people, and still we refuse them the land we promised, and still we do not give them same rights as every other citizen of this country. They are truly the only ones still suffering the great atrocities wrought by European descendants.

But I cannot take a claim to their sufferings, I can voice those historical facts as I have so studiously learned of them. I have not suffered from my heritage to the Cherokee, and for that I am lucky. No, I am white. White of skin, white of heritage, white of race. They don’t ask on legal forms if I am German, Irish, French, Scandinavian, etc. All of us are “white” no more and no less. Our vastly different cultures and values all categorized into the singular color of our skin. Skin which we are made to feel ashamed of, and told to tan to make more appealing. We are not allowed to take pride in the struggle our ancestors went through traversing their native lands with little to nothing, riding across the ocean on a boat full of disease and starvation, to make it to uncharted lands they terraformed themselves. We are not allowed to take pride in the way they built entire cities and towns from the ground up. We are not allowed to take pride in the generations worth of work that they put into building the country we have today. Without us, there would be no “United States of America”.

Perhaps it would have better if those Europeans had never found this land, where Natives could have continued building their own beautiful civilization very different from ours. But that is the talk of dreamers. It’s not reality. In reality many terrible things happened to make this country. Many people were made to experience terrible atrocities in coming here. We cannot change the history of this land any more than Britain could claim that they didn’t take control of India and steal their profitable markets, leaving India poor from such theft. History is full of terrible people, who treat people terribly.

I never met my ancestors. I can’t ask them how they treated other people. I can’t ask them why they would treat anyone worse than anyone else. I can’t ask them what they thought about slavery or indentured servitude. I cannot know. What I do know is that I am not them. I have never held contemptment toward another person for anything as silly and ridiculous as they way they look. I have never sought to punish someone for the crimes of their ancestors either.

We live now in world where people are mad about things that happened to people that are no longer alive, and they’re trying to punish people who are alive now for the crimes of those who are already dead. We live in a world where it is becoming rule that being white is a “bad” thing. It makes you a terrible person and a racist, and nothing terrible you experience can ever be as terrible as anyone who isn’t white. The world seeks to gain retribution on white people for the crimes of their dead relatives. They would sooner sell us into slavery themselves than seek true equality and acceptance for all races. The world wants a reason to be angry, and they need someone to be angry with. We have been chosen as the target of the worlds rage. I guess that’s what happens in a world without war and outward discrimination, we must seek to create division amongst the people. They’re easier to control when they have something to be angry about.

I see the way the world is turning and hope only that the worst of it will come long after my children and I have died.

I am white. I am a good person, a humanitarian, and a pacifist. I seek a world where equality means seeing past someone’s appearance to the person who is inside.

I am white, and I am proud.

[immutablealtruist]

You don’t talk to me anymore. You’ve been such an asshole lately. Like all you can do is hurt me and then apologize later. I feel weak. Weak and stuck and lost. I feel like you’re out somewhere far away from me, and you I’ve left me stranded here alone. I do for you and do for you and do for you. I give and give and give. And you give me breadcrumbs. You keep me materialistic bullshit that doesn’t make up for the loss of your affection. Sometimes you feel so close and sometimes you feel a planet away. You don’t ever talk to me. Things go wrong, you get in bad moods, you get upset, but you just take it out on me by being a jerk and you never explain what happened or why you got in that mood in the first place. I just want to know what’s going on. You don’t trust me. Why don’t you trust me? I need you. I miss you. But you’re away again, and I can’t complain about it because you just get defensive. It’s a pointless endless cycle. I just want to be happy, but you always have to find a reason to feel like you’re suffering. You can be so childish and immature and selfish. I hate it. Grow up. You have a family even if you didn’t ask for it. You have responsibilities even if you don’t want them. You don’t get to be wild and free anymore. I accepted that. Why can’t you? You go around pretending you’re the only one who gave something up for this family. Like you’re the only one maki my sacrifices. Like I should pity you for having to be the provider even though you know I’d take your place in a heartbeat if it were possible. I think I’d be far better at it than you. But I never tell you that, because it’s not productive. Then, it’s not productive for you to treat me like shit out of nowhere for no reason either and try to gaslight me into thinking you’re not or that it’s somehow justified. You’re full of it. Sometimes I loath talking to you. I just wish you would get over that bullshit persona you put on and be fucking vulnerable for once. You’re not tough. You’re just stupid for trying to be. I’m falling apart again, because of you. Because of how you ignore me, how you don’t help, how you’re selfish with your time. You don’t think of me. It’s killing me. I need you.

[immutablealtruist]

A thousand hobbies, and I can’t pick one. Always searching for the next big interest. Always seeking the next complex issue to solve and put together. Always starting one big thing after the next. Always abandoning before I finish. Always throwing away hours and weeks for that last hour of work left incomplete. Always getting bored before the finish line, and never making it back to the start. Getting distracted by the next bright light on the endless highway. Insatiable. Hungry for more and more, and never full. Always an artist, but never a creator of a masterpiece. Seeking, searching, growing, learning. Starting, flowing, distracting, abandoning. To begin again anew. As if to finish is to conquer, and to conquer is to quit.

[immutablealtruist]

Sometimes you make me feel like I’m terrible, while I’m sitting in a chair like an excited little kid just trying to share my life with you, you see the worst possible parts of me and point them out. I feel so lost to the vision you have of me, like you don’t see who’s really sitting in front of you at all.

[immutablealtruist]

I do not wish to spend my life attempting to obtain an understanding of that which is incomprehensible to me. I shall choose instead to spend my life fascinated by those things which are beyond my comprehension, and of the implications which arise from such an incomprehensible idea as the possibility of anything.

[immutablealtruist]

I look out at the world from wooden bars of the patio to these four walls, and I see the world. I think, “I just want to be a part of it.”

I feel invisible.

He has not the extra time for me. Always good for cooking, and cleaning, for favors, and mothering… but he has not the time to feed my soul.

I look out with curious eyes, and a childlike naive dream of wandering through those green grassy fields and dense trees. I ils so much wonder, for there is much to put me in awe here. And yet…

Four walls. Four blank white walls are all I see.

[immutablealtruist]

Have you ever thought about how your vile extremism is leading to more mental health issues across the nation? No. Of course not. Because you’re all too focused on who’s right and who’s wrong. You all want so badly to be right, that you tear down anyone who gets in your way or has the courage to say otherwise. Forget all you extremist democrats and republicans. All you care about is fighting for the sake of your own pride, and trying too damn hard to come out looking like you’re the better person. Maybe if you spent as much time helping people and supporting people as you do fighting online like some keyboard warrior, you’d actually be good people. You’re not good people though, because you don’t care about others nearly as much as you care about yourselves. You create division and and environment of hatred. Anything that doesn’t fit your agenda is wrong, and anyone who dares think outside the box of what you think is right is seen as evil. You all make me sick with your endless battle. None of you are right and you never were. Those of us that have stood on the fence this whole time watching you fight like the children you are, we understand how ridiculous you are. When it comes down to it, I think you’re all just out there looking for any excuse to feel more rage and fill the world with more hatred. You wanna be a good person? Go help someone in need. You want to make a positive change? Be a positive person that does positive things in the world. Negativity breeds negativity, and hatred breeds hatred. All your fighting does is create more of it. Hop down from your high horses, we all have flaws. Let’s work on creating a better world, instead of just tearing other people down.

[immutablealtruist]

I’ve had body image issues my whole life, after watching my beautiful overweight mother call herself ugly and hideous growing up. After listening to rude comments from people about her weight. After all the people that told me if I keep eating so much or so unhealthy I’ll be fat. Or that if I got pregnant I would be.

I had issues so deep that I refused to take a medicine I needed because my disease kept weight off.

I was for years so skinny that you could see my bones quite clearly.

At some point I started going to the gym. I felt on top of the world. I looked better than I ever have in my life.

Then covid hit. Gyms closed. And I got pregnant.

I hated gaining weight, even if it was healthy. I hated that I had to have a child because it would ruin this figure I had worked so hard for my whole life. I knew I would never get it back.

After I gave birth I felt hideous. I was the heaviest I’ve ever been in my entire life.

I tried eating healthy. I tried exercising. I tried waiting for time and good habits to give me back that figure.

Nothing worked.

I’ve stayed heavier than I ever was before pregnancy.

I have a bump in my stomach that gives me a look of being consistently first trimester pregnant.

I’ve done everything I can to get back that shape I spent so many years working on and idolizing, as if it were the epitome of my existence. I can’t get that shape back.

So I spent many more months trying instead to learn to love myself as I am now.

I’ve tried learning to love every curve, every stretch mark, every pound…

It was working pretty well…

Until some woman at a Hobby Lobby saw me with my baby and asked if I had another one on the way.

Just like that- ZAP! - there goes all that hard work.

Now I find myself refusing to look into a mirror. Putting on a big t-shirt. Feeling like shit for not eating fruits and vegetables every time I eat. Feeling fat and ugly and beyond hope.

All because of one ignorant comment made by some stupid woman who was never taught the unspoken rule that you NEVER ask a woman if she’s pregnant.

[immutablealtruist]

I work hard at what I do. I spend hours and hours perfecting such detailed pieces of work, that by the time I’m finished most people are impressed. The ignorant ones will say how “talented” I am. Talent is bullshit. It doesn’t exist. I’m passionate, and that’s a gift, but I was not born with the talent to do what I do. It took years of HARD work and countless hours of practicing. I went to college for I do. That’s what makes it so frustrating when I work hard for someone who has commissioned me, and they don’t want to pay me or they just assume that I work for free.

ARTISTS DESERVE TO BE PAID.

If you hired someone to build you a house, or a plumber to come fix a leaky drain, or an electrician to wire up a room for you, you would never expect them to work for free right? If you went to work for a week, worked your ass off, and your boss told you at the end of the week that you weren’t going to be paid you’d be pissed right? And yet, for some stupid fucking reason, people think artists are different.

People have so many stupid excuses:

“I’m giving you exposure”

“You do it for fun anyways right? Why should I pay you for it?”

“I thought it was a favor”

Or simply,

“I didn’t realize I had to pay you for this”

It’s so damn frustrating. If I wanted to create something for someone to just go “oh wow that’s cool” I’d create something I actually want to and post it to instagram. If I wanted exposure I’d go posting everywhere I could and telling people I’m for hire. I don’t need gratification or advertisement. I don’t do favors. I don’t need to create what you want for practice, I practice just fine with my own works. This is my business. I need money. The one thing I can’t do is pay myself.

It’s hard when you spend well over 20 hours on a piece, slaving over every detail. You have in mind the whole time that as much as you hate it, it’ll be worth it for the money. Then you finish it, and you send it off, and that’s it. No money. No pay off. No thank you. Nothing. Just a “wow that’s so cool!” What a slap in the face.

I guess it’s my fault for assuming anyone would realize this is a job to me. For not making it clear that I don’t work for free. For not telling you it’s going to cost money. For working for a relative where I can’t just go asking for money without seeming like an asshole, because they were too fucking stupid to realize that this is a business and I don’t work for free.

But hey, I’m mad anyways.

Doctors don’t do surgery for free.

Baristas don’t make coffee for free.

Web designers don’t make websites for free.

Carpenters don’t build for free.

Secretaries don’t answer phones for free.

Nurses don’t tend to patients for free.

So tell me, why should I work for free?

Why am I undervalued and not paid?

I’m angry and disappointed, after working so hard on something I hated working on, that I’m proud of how it turned out; I get nothing for it. Not. Even. A. Thank. You. Nothing. I’ve lost more respect for this person than I had for them in the first place. Hope you enjoy your stolen design I spent hours of my life creating for you.

Now I have to make contracts. Trust no one to pay me. Take down payments. Use watermarks. And guarantee that my WORK is never STOLEN again. Because that’s it means to not pay an artist. It means they worked for you, and you didn’t pay them. You stole their work.

ARTISTS DESERVE TO BE PAID. 

[immutablealtruist]

There is not much in life more painful than that inexplicable feeling of being unwanted by everyone, even those whom claim to love and care for you.

[immutablealtruist]

I resent that I get to watch you follow your dream while I am reduced to nothing more than a mother. I have dreams, ambitions, goals… but they don’t matter. All that matters is that I’m a good mom; that I do my job to watch and raise a child. I tell you I have no purpose and hear that my purpose is to raise a child, as if I can be nothing more than that basic principle. She holds me back from being anything other than her mother. She holds me back from participating in adult life. I have reduced to this, and nothing more, and no one gives a damn about all the life that has been sucked away from my existence. I watch him reach for stars and all I can reach for is another bottle. He sings in a studio, and I sing in the car. He lives in the world, and I live in a home. I resent this existence, this monotony, and this title thrust upon me. I am proud to be a mother, but I am more than a mother. Why then have I been reduced to this solitary existence?

[immutablealtruist]

I don’t exist. He doesn’t want me there. I’m not a part of the dream. Not a part of the vision for his future. I am invisible. My skills, my talents, my interests, my knowledge… none of it matters. Not to him or anyone else. I don’t matter. I’m invisible. I don’t exist.

[immutablealtruist]

The space between these sheets feels empty and cold. Like days spent separated by clicking buttons and bright screens. That vast expanse of space that pulls you further from my grasp. I here am lonesome, suspended in time and space surrounded by the white walls of my solitary confinement. You off in purgatory have have colder, a stone wall devoid of emotion. I take my joys from small successes, pretty pictures, little laughter. From stolen kisses, and every hug. I crave love, I crave attention and affection. The hole in my heart is gaping wide open, and my futile attempts at remedying the situation have seemed only to push you further from me. You walk backwards, I am an invisible, and she in the middle blissfully unaware in her youth.

I watch you smile at her with a love that is boundless. When she is sick and needs you, you answer her call with an impenetrable depth of endless love and concern. Your obvious love holds all the breadth of a seasoned father, and as it should fails to waver or flicker in the face of her near endless crying out for it. But so too does she stand holding onto the knees of your jeans, looking so high up at you, screaming out for attention. Your headphones drowning out her cries, adamantly ignoring her call for affection to answer that of the countdown on a screen.

I feel as she does. Standing there, looking up at you, screaming for affection, attention, for love. I crave your love as an addict craves their drug. I cannot withdraw from my need for your love and affection; that high is the only thing saving this infected mind from complete destruction.

Too many days of solitude. Too many days spent wrapped in white walls and empty rooms. Too many days spent talking out loud to a child far too young to understand a single word uttered from these lips. My grip on reality is fading.

Every night I dream of a new group of people. A new group of friends to talk with, to share my time amongst. A new place to explore. A world without the worry of the cost of gas, or the fear of rejection. I wake feeling destitute and alone, in the arms of a warm stone which may or may not melt into the man I fell in love with. I beg for that melt, yet so oft find myself begging before a stone wall. Impenetrable, emotionless.

Those walls are not open, the armor too strong to make a dent through. Suppose to say, your fortress has become an unopposable force between the two of us.

I fear you have come to resent me. I who spends her days in these four white walls. An ever present caretaker to all residents within. A maid, a cook, a mother, a lover. I fear you resent me for staying in this prison cell. Yet, given the opportunity, so easily would I take the place of working fingers to bone to hold us afloat. I feel myself a useless weight, pulling us toward the sea floor.

I have little concept of what is real, and what is a clear deception from my mind. The anxiety and the logic fall hand in hand, so close to one another I cannot distinguish the difference. The sadness rips open my chest, leaves me grasping for air, screaming out in pain. I beg for a cure, a reprieve, for a dose of such love and affection as to bring a moment of bliss from it.

You do not have to be alone to feel lonely. A room full of people looking the other direction, without a single word uttered to you, is hardly a solice to that feeling of solitude. Even as she grasps my fingers with tiny hands, calling out for my attention, I feel myself alone in this cell. He kisses me, and for a moment I feel alive, before he immerses himself in a virtual world, and again I feel a corpse walking.

I wonder how he is doing. What secrets lay just beyond those thick fortress walls? What emotion do you smother in liquor and nicotine every night? Is life so unbearable you require those substances and that virtual reality to free yourself from the shackles of this plane? What of us who remain, you claim to love, and yet leave so in need of you it has caused a great rift between you?

She is the only light in my world. The only laughter in my sadness. The only reason I’ve found to smile. Her love is more addictive even than that high from his affection. Her need for me is so potent a dose of dopamine, I could no longer live without it. She is my lifeline. Caring for her has become my only purpose in this pathetic life. She is my light, my love, my smile, my muse, my purpose, my world. I live on through this pain, through the solitude, through the endless bounds of anxiety that shackle me… I live on for her. I cannot leave her, because she needs me. She holds me to this body as an anchor holds a ship to the ocean floor. No matter the storm raging at the surface, her love anchors me here.

I am trying to cure this infection in my mind. To fill this hole in my chest. To cross the void between him and I, so we united may go forward together stronger than before. He fades away into another world. She grows each day to need me less. And I fall further and further into the depths each day, struggling beyond relief to swim my way to the surface and save my mind and heart from the pain.

It is up to fate who should succeed and who should fail. Who should perish, and who should prevail. I take comfort only in knowing that for better or for worse, there is a purpose to all pain. Though I oft wonder, what is mine?

[immutablealtruist]

One of the hardest things in life is understanding that sometimes you’ll find yourself in a delicate situation where the best thing you can do for yourself it eat shit. Maybe your boss has it out for you, and you can’t find a another job that pays the same. Maybe your coworkers are friends with your boss and they don’t like you, and that makes your boss treat you more harshly. Maybe you’ve got a customer service job and your customer is a dick. Whatever the situation may be, in those times, standing up for yourself and telling off the person that should be told off just isn’t possible. It can be hard to accept that you’ve just got to take it. You’ve got to eat shit. I’ve been there, and it sucks. But the silver lining should lay in proving them wrong. Prove to your boss that no matter the scrutiny you get, no matter how hard they make it, no matter how awful they are, you’re still a good employee that works hard. Prove to your customer that no matter how awful they are, how rude, how demanding, you’re still going to be kind and do your job and do it right. Sometimes taking shit is tougher than standing up for yourself. It takes a strong person to eat shit day after day and still show up. A much weaker one would just quit, give up, explode. An even weaker person that that is the one giving the shit. Someone who had no other claim to power to hold onto than making one persons life hell. Remember at the end of those days that you’ve got a life to go home to, you’ve got friends or family or a husband/wife, or a kid, or a dog… and whatever that asshole is going home to us bad enough to make them feel it necessary to treat a good person like shit. Someone isn’t going to be a sick for no reason, they’re always making up for a lack of something in their life, and they take it out on the person who’s got what they want in life. So say fuck ‘em. Show up, do your best, be kind and eat shit. When they realize they can’t get under your skin, they’ll find a new target to victimize.

[immutablealtruist]

I’m feeling lonely because I’m alone. I’m feeling ugly because I can’t get back what I had before. I’m feeling fat. I’m feeling gross. I believe so many things and I try to tell myself it’s not true, but to me it is true. In these eyes I am fat, my thighs are too big, my boobs are too small, my feet are too flat, my teeth are too crooked, my hair is too short. My legs aren’t long enough, my arms aren’t strong enough, my waist isn’t flat enough, my lips are symmetrical enough. I’m flawed and disproportionated and ugly. I feel so ugly. I’ve been avoiding the mirror for months. The scale just makes me depressed. I can starve myself all I want, refuse to take meds to cause weight loss, and yet I still can’t drop a pound. I hate my body. I used to love it. I feel so ugly. I used to feel beautiful. I hate myself. I lost that confidence I used to radiate. Everyone will say “your body changes after giving birth”. They’ll tell me you can’t lose the weight or get a flat stomach. They’ll tell me I’ll never look the same. They’ll say it as people who’ve given up hope, like I should too. Like I should accept I’ll hate my body from 24 years old through the rest of my life. I miss the gym. I miss running until my lungs screamed for more air. I miss feeling like maybe I could look better if I just ran a little longer. I miss feeling strong. Now I just feel lazy. Lazy and ugly and useless. I miss the old me. Everyone hated 2020, but not me. I was thriving. I loved myself and every part of my life. Now I hate myself, I hate my body, I hate feeling useless and invisible and unimportant. Sometimes I just want to go back. I want to go back and learn to love myself for more than the things that could be so easily lost. I just want to learn how to love myself again.

[immutablealtruist]

I just want you to stop treating me like a villain. Like I’m always mad, angry, upset, frustrated. Like I’m not allowed to be sometimes. Like I should just be happy all the time. I just want you to let me feel. To let me experience emotion. You don’t even accept your own faults. You just deny them. You just make me feel guilty for your faults like somehow it’s my fault you have faults. I tell you you make me a villain and you say “like I don’t know you right?” What the fuck does that even mean?! Are you just trying to guilt me into not feeling like you always make me into a villain?! Are you trying to gaslight me?! Sometimes I just don’t know. Own your shit man. You always treat me like I’m angry even when I’m not. Like I’m upset when I’m fine. Like I’m angry when I’m excited. You DONT know my emotions. Clearly. Can’t you just own up to it and try to do better? No. Guilt trip me instead. Make it about you. Try to make me take it back. Fuck you. Fuck you for always doing that to me. I HATE THAT. I admit my wrongs and my failures and my mistakes, and I try to grow from them and get better. But you like to play the guilt trip and denial game. Maybe I am mad about that. But you know what?! Maybe I have a fucking right to be mad sometimes. Maybe if you let me be mad about the stupid things I wouldn’t bottle up all my rage until it spouts out of me like a fucking volcano. But you don’t. You just want me to be happy and perfect ALL THE TIME because you don’t know how to deal with emotions. And somehow that’s my fault too. It gets exhausting.

[immutablealtruist]

Shhh don’t tell anyone, but I’m falling apart.

I can’t take it. The yelling, the crying, it’s constant. It’s always take care of her, take care of her, take care of her. I can’t take care of me. I need a break. I’m falling apart.

He doesn’t help enough. He won’t wake up for her. He won’t help when she’s crying. It’s always up to me. Up to me. Up to me. Up to me. All the time.

Get her ready, so I can’t get ready. Get her things so I forget my things. Get her fed, so I don’t eat. Get her to sleep, so I don’t sleep. I need quiet and she’s yelling. Always yelling. I need quiet and she’s crying. She’s always crying lately.

I don’t resent her. I love her. But my patience is running thin. I try so hard. Always be kind. Always be gentle. Always be loving. Always care. I do. I really do.

But sometimes. Sometimes I want to yell. Sometimes I want to scream. Sometimes I want shake my hands in the air in exasperation. Sometimes I feel beat. Sometimes I feel weak. Sometimes I feel at my very wits end.

I go to him for support. For help. For love. For affection. He doesn’t help with her enough. He leaves it to me any time it’s not convenient. I’m breaking and he’s watching from the sidelines. I tell him I feel invisible and ugly, and he does nothing to make me feel otherwise.

Am I even here anymore? Is mom all I’ve become? Nothing more than a title, a caretaker, invisible hands raising the next generation? What happened to me? Where did I go?

I’m breaking. Slowly. I feel so invisible. Unseen. Unimportant. Forgettable. Ugly. Gross.

I feel like a failure.

I feel like I’m fucking up. I must be right? To feel this way? To feel such rage in the midst of such perfection?

He asks me if I hurt her. I don’t know if he’s serious or not. How could he even dare ask such a thing? I’ve given her my life, my future, my body… why the fuck would I do all that just to hurt her? Why would I give up me for her if I didn’t want her? I wouldn’t. I gave up everything for her. Everything. Every single part of me I used to be, has been given to her. All my love, my aspirations, my dreams, my future, my beauty, my figure… every single thing that used to be me. I gave it all to her.

She’s unsteady when she sits, when she crawls, when she tries to stand. She’s so small, and so weak. She doesn’t move fast enough to catch herself before she falls. I hate it when she falls. I hate it when she gets hurt. I do everything I can to protect her.

How could he even ask me such a question?!

I’m breaking.

I’m becoming nothing.

Falling apart.

They all keep asking me if I’m okay.

I’ve been convincing myself I am.

I’m not so sure anymore.

Maybe, maybe I’m not.