Maybe some day in the middle…

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..we just might meet.  – Matt Wertz

My music choices lately have been really mild, especially for me.  A lot of acoustics, pop, trip-hop even classical.  I’m not sure what brought on the change in my current preferences but it’s a nice direction.  I think it’s been because my mood has lifted over the past few weeks, despite all the crap and I’m just reflecting that through what I listen to.

Last night was rough, I felt like crap, but not really any more than usual.  It was just more the emotional impact of switching drugs again.  It forced me to face being sick again, made me realize how tired I really am of hurting.  The talk I had with my doctor just, well, it broke me.  I spent the evening writing, crying, venting and wallowing in self-pity.

One thing I said to Ry is that everyone thinks I’m such a strong woman.  That I handle everything very well considering.  Last night I was tired of being strong.  I wanted to be weak and give up.  Life had stressed me out, and I wanted it to be easy for once.  I didn’t want to have to be strong.

At first I poured my feelings out on here, then I poured them out in my physical journal.  Then I reached out through twitter and texts.  Then Ry.  At the end of the night, when I had finally calmed down enough to close my eyes and lay down I felt like I had crossed some imaginary line.  .  I felt embarrassed that Ry had seen my cry, that my friends had read my blog and all I had done was whine.  I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry all over again, I had shown everyone that I was weak, I had pleaded with my friends over text to assure me it would be okay.  I didn’t want to show my face this morning, either through the internet or in real life.  I. Felt. Ashamed.

This morning was like a new start.  I woke up to a wonderful person, a cup of coffee and had some time to sort through my thoughts before I had to get ready for work.  I sat at my kitchen table, watching the sunrise peak through my window and thought.  I hovered over my coffee cup and dragged my thoughts out of my head.  I realized something I wish I had realized last night, hell years ago even.

It’s okay to break down.  Everyone breaks.  Everyone cries.  No one can be invincible forever.  I may be strong, I may be what I keep hearing, I may be able to get through anything I set my mind to, and I will always be proud of that.  It just took me a little while to realize that it’s okay to cry.  To sit on the kitchen floor and throw a tantrum.  To text my friends asking for kind words.  It’s okay to be tired of the struggle.  It’s okay to want to quit.

The important point is is that you don’t quit.  I had my moment.  I got it all out.  I screamed, I cried, I shook my fist at the powers that be.  I threw a tantrum and yelled out “It’s not fair!” to anyone who listened.  I let it all escape my head.

Now it’s back to the fight.  I’m not one to give up easily, and I’m sure as hell not done.  Life is a struggle, this illness is a struggle, single parenting most certainly blows most days, but I’ll get through it all.   I’ll come out on top.

I just have to remind myself that it’s okay to feel down.  It’s okay to break once in a while.  It’s okay to just need a hug in order to keep going.

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