Vigor rigor mortus

I feel as though all my energy for life has been sapped directly out of my soul.

I had dreams and desires once.

Now I feel what its like to be adult. To feel as though comfort is a shadow cast by the harsher light of reality.

To be told not to rely on anyone is such a slap in the face. As though I haven't earned the right to let myself lean a little on someone when I need it.

It's almost a bane, being so genuinely trusting of those I'm close to.

But I have to keep having faith in humanity. I can't stop believing that some day someone will say to me, hey, I'm sticking around, and it'll be the truth.

Its like, somehow, the level of stubbornness I have is exhausting, my ability to continually cope and thrive is bothersome. But then its even more bothersome when suddenly the weight of all that coping crashes down. I am left shallow, with nothing. I really have no confidant. When I was young I could trust and share so easily, but for so long I've been told or given the impression that my problems are not as important as yours. I will always be interrupted, second-guessed. And left in the dirt, a Christmas tree. Cut down out of the wild and dressed up to your liking, then left behind. You've taken me from my rough roots, you've seized me from my safe place, a condition which I can thrive and endure.

I am a stump. And I am a tree. And we are separated from ourselves, with no way back together again.