In the end, they're rocks.

Well, I'm fucking done. Done, done, done!!!

I just can't keep being this fucked up girl in these fucked up situations. I might, no I will regret saying these things tomorrow, but I have to write it now while I feel something, especially if that's FUCKING anger. We talked in circles; we lived in circles that are getting smaller and smaller. It's faster to get back to the beginning--to feel like I've fucked up all over again. But why am I fucking here?

The woman who started me on my path last year made me walk through a hot field, being chewed alive by mosquitos for hours with a backpack filled with rocks. Forty pounds at least and I trudged through those grasses, crying and miserable, feeling the weight of every single stone, every burden that I have carried for someone else. And she asked me to come back and say, "I am ready to put this weight down." Don't come back until you can say that. I walked for nearly an hour, sobbing and kicking and sweating and I came back with a smile on my face. A fucking smile! How sick is that? I was furious at her for making me do this, I was furious at myself for carrying these rocks for every other person's burden, but I fucking smiled. God forbid I upset her with my feelings. I was forced to turn and keep walking.

And I promised myself I wouldn't forget that feeling, yanking at my shoulders, making my lungs burn and my muscles ache. But I forgot. I started this journey realizing that I needed someone to help methrough. Someone to take the weight from me and say, "You deserve a chance to carry only what is yours. I will take them from you, I will make you give them up. I will help you stop picking them up in the first place." I thought I had gotten close to that; I mean the fact that I could even approach someone about it is miracle enough. But somehow, I fell back into that pattern. I opened my bag and threw a few more in and he had the sense enough to end it, and I had to masochistically pick it back up. Why do I let myself have half-things? Why do I think that's all I deserve? Everything only half-ready. I say, "It's okay. It's a work in process. We can fix it. I can fix it." Someone fix me! Enough is enough already. Put the fucking rocks down. Say you're ready and mean it. Stop fucking smiling.

So this time, I need it to be over for real. I have to stop feeling like my needs are a burden; that's how I got here in the first place. And he's taught me that in this crazy, mixed-up way, while I circle back around. This time, I will cry and I will say, "Enough. I want to put it down." ...And it will be okay and the world won't fall apart; I will have faith that I won't be alone again for long. If I can do it, if I can tell myself I deserve more and believe it, then I will be a little bit closer to whole, closer to just me, alone and weightless.