Am I Insane?

Supportive woman equals a family backbone.   How do you learn to support when you've done it alone. A single woman doing it alone, a mother not referring to the weekend you babysat and I packed a weekend bag because his home is not where you live. Alone. Referencing the days you drink an extra coffee because you chose to protect your peace... Of mind... Peace in your home.    You went from a supporter to defensive protector of your young. Is it wrong to forgive a disfigured memory of a loss greater than financial decrease or the loss of a lease.  How to support the loss of peace, with a sprinkle of unwarrented distrust.  Is it wrong to love what the world would call unforgiveable.  "You deserve the pain, and the drought after trying again... And again..." I hate feeling unconditional love.  It scares me the way I want to support you.  It ddissapoints me the infinite ways I forgive with an intent to remember but my love makes me want to fo

Spiritual death supplies empty substance used to power empty actions that fulfill an unwanted life.   You can hurt someone so bad that your words literally have no meaning, and your promises are cold empty monochromatic symbols. Looking through rose colored glasses with a monochromatic soul clouds visions of hope. The world sees a smile while I swallow sorrowful cries to survive.  Are you walking to be alive? Have a life? Or just survive? Walking Dead to Live.   The world sees it as responsiblity because you live without thriving. Goals slowly dying hiding behind smiles and grinding.  Is grinding a goal? Walking through life with dead dreams.   Resuscitate a heart that's been abused get it ready to be used.  Revive your sipirt to thrive not survive. PALM.  (pause and let that marinate). Walking dead through the pain. Setting goals I will obtain. Walking dead through the lies.  Tranparently changing lives. Walking dead through the pride. M

People can say they sympathize and understand...  The lowered eyes and weightless shoulders are all physical signs of sympathy and they comfort with the momentum of a conversation.  The sympathy lasts until the final tissue and deep breathe is taken, but then what? What happens when you wash your face? Because I wash my face do I deserve any less sympathy from the next? Does the hurt, hurt less? Does that make me stronger, and able to handle more adversity? No! Damnit, No! That's why I am writing this to finally have a chance at imperfection .  PALM. I went to college, perfect.  I became an honorable mother, perfect. I defied the odds against me, perfect.  I had steadfast faith, perfect. How? you ask ... simple! I WAS NOT PERFECT! And, surprise!.. I will Never be perfect. Is that a surprise to you? Well it is to me! The inner me, of course; where all the facts, and sensibility, meet the wisdom of my faith.  The inner me wanted to be perfect, the inner me kept striving f