The Things We Carry

There seems to be an endless supply of sadness in my heart these days.

It's a struggle everyday to wake up and get out of bed. Well not necessarily to wake up, I do that easily enough, but as soon as I do the anxiety rears its ugly head and I am fighting to breathe, remember that I'm not dying, and get myself out of bed to my job.

I have so many tears and no where for them to go. I have so much doubt and I don't even know if I want the answers to my questions. This place I'm in? It's ugly, slimy, sticky. It's the place we are ashamed to let anyone know we reside. It's a place it seems so many of us often end up in, one way or the other.

The Things We Carry, a beautiful book, much acclaimed, often read in school. What did these men carry into battle? Guilt, shame, M-16s, morphine, letters.

What is it I feel like I'm carrying? What am I carrying? Anger, fear, anxiety, jealousy. Scars from words that shattered my heart, both from the aggressor, then from the men who should have helped but didn't.