Heavy Hearts

So here I sit: stumped.


Stumped about life.


No.


That's a lie.


I'm not sure I'm even ready to think about 'life'. It's an excuse.


If I believe that I am stumped about 'life', than it gives me reason. It gives me reason to be strong, to strive, to cry, to make excuses, to lie.


And it is okay, because it is my truth.


Well, perhaps it is not exactly my truth as in something so universal and whole that every waking moment I am alive some grand and wholesome phenomenon; but, it is my ideal truth.


Ideally I love my mother, I don't get hurt by the things she says, I don't crave friendship, I'm in a completely happy relationship, I'm good friends with my brother, I feel comfortable around my friends, I miss school, I believe anorexia is an eating disorder, I don't even remember the things you've said, it was never my fault, I have a mental illness, he touched me in places he should not have, I have control; of my feelings, my life, my past - I do not fear the future, I have it all worked out, I don't care if no one reads this, I don't care if I have no one to talk to, I don't care if I know that all of those things that happened, happened because I let them. No I don't care about the whispers, I don't care if I never am able to perform.


Ideally, it's not my fault.


The only problem with this lie is that I've never been able to convince myself.