In my last post, those of you who commented seemed to find a happiness radiating from my words. That's cool.

Execumama said, "Your Happy just spilled right on through, and I am now reminding Self that feeling good is a CHOICE, and I choose it!" That's cool too.

Truth is. I'm not happy. Not even a little bit. And even my momentary contentment is a facade, because once back indoors, out from under the spotlight of expectation, that "Happy" mask gets taken off and thrown against the wall, falls to the floor, where it lies in tiny shattered pieces, until I am forced to have to try to piece it back together again to face another day. Forced to wear it in order to make the people around me feel more comfortable, because people don't have the energy and patience to understand. Yes, by no means is it easy to deal, to put up with, to give attention to someone who is always unhappy, and by no means do those of us who battle various mental illnesses and conflicts within ourselves that churn the waters of our unhappiness, expect family, friends, peers and lovers to deal with, to put up with, to give attention to our shit 100% of the time. However, it would mean a world of difference to just be understood.

I've found myself incredibly exhausted, run down and resentful. My back and shoulders no longer stand erect, and sometimes, I can't keep my head from hanging low. My spine curves under the pressure to "make it", to measure up, to not disappoint, to be everything I was suppose to be (which is funny because there are times when I don't even know who I really am). Its also funny how people are always saying stuff like, "you can lead a horse to the water but you can't make him drink." I guess putting the water into a bowl and raising it to the horse's mouth so that he may drink isn't an option. Its just not understood that some people have been fighting so hard and for so long that they just don't have any fight left in them. What happens to those people? Why is that concept so taboo? Instead of viewing those people as unwilling to help themselves, perhaps its more productive to ask yourself what lies beneath.

Its where I'm at. I literally don't have any fight left in me and I'm resentful. Resentful that I have to go at this all alone. Not just in terms of raising my child, but in terms of life in general. I am going at life alone. Yes, I just gusted about the amazing women around me, and part of the reason they are so amazing is their ability to understand, however, we are all in this rat race to measure up to society's rules and even women in their 30s and 40s are still working toward beating the odds; working toward proving themselves to people who are looking for them to fail. I am resentful that I've sacrificed a great deal and am not reaping the benefits. I am resentful that in 4 days me and my child will be homeless. I am resentful that my great-grandmother didn't consider putting me up for adoption after my mother died so that maybe I would have had a chance of experiencing the simple joy of having parents, a real family. I am resentful, that at 25, my life resembles that of someone who has about 2 or 3 decades on me. These should not be the experiences of a 25 year old. But yet they are. They are all mine. Alone.