Pretty Little Boxes

I want my life to fit into pretty little boxes and it doesn’t. I want to have it all figured out and I don’t. I am not sure if I ever will. I want everything to make sense, to have happened for a reason, but I can’t be sure it does anymore.

I need to get my tech license. I need to pay off my car. I need more hours in the day, more time with my son.

I see a lot of closed doors, lost opportunities, missed chances. I hear a lot of the word “no” with little explanation. I understand why Elliott throws the epic tantrums he does because life is frustrating. I’m an adult and I can barely hold it all together some days. I am an adult and I’ve seen my entire life crumble before my eyes, unable to stop it. And I am still here, still picking up the pieces sharp like glass, amazed that what little I had could hurt so much. I don’t have a lot to write anymore because it would literally just be this same thing over and over and over and over and over again.

I am stuck.

And I try my very best not to hate it. I try my best to pray and not worry. To be grateful for where I am, instead of somewhere else. To try to have a different attitude about it all. To just stop it. But some days, you just are who you are, where you are. Some days there is no positive spin to being so far from where you thought you would be and having no clue what comes next. Some days nothing works in my favor and it feels as if I must give up everything I ever thought I wanted to pay for my mistakes. Too much damage sustained, so long, so long..

Some days I believe everything happens for a reason, but that idea has been a hard pill to swallow lately. If I knew what brought on this funk, I would have snapped out of it by now. I am certain this is not who I want to be, but feel powerless to this process. I pray, mull it over. I am thankful for the bright spots in my life. My son, my sisters, my parent’s support. I am thankful for the boyfriend who lets me be completely honest without fear of being good enough. But still, feel dragged down by a weight to which I am not sure how I was tied.

I feel silly and embarrassed to publish this publicly because this is such a first world problem. This is such a Michelle thing. I overthink, overanalyze, and perfectionism tangles up my words. I am aware my situation could be so much worse. But I have always been blatantly honest here. This is where I come to be honest with myself, because as true as I am with others, it is too easy to live day to day with the pretense that nothing hurts me.

This is the shadow that proves the sunshine. This is me practicing the patience I so foolishly prayed for. Really don’t recommend that, by the way.

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