Have you seen me lately?

It wasn't just because there happened to be an empty spot on the wall next to my desk.  It wasn't because I had nowhere else to put the damn thing.  My degree hangs on the wall most present in my peripheral for a good reason:  It reminds me of dreams I had while growing up - that while they changed drastically over the years, several components remained the same.  It reminds me that I could've given up so many times - I could've succumbed to devastating relationship problems, the death of my grandfather, disheartening financial situations and many bouts of self-doubt.  I have given credit to a few over the years for keeping my head above the water - but ultimately, I fought hard because exemplifying strength is what I was raised to do and it's what I'm used to. 

A co-worker said to me the other day, "I love how you just don't care and you'll call anyone out straight to their face.  You're just not afraid."

For years people have leaned on my shoulder - sought me out when they needed to sob, when they needed someone to tell them that the only reason the sun rolls over the horizon tomorrow is because they want it to.  I've patted backs, wiped away tears, hugged as strong and solidly as possible - I've made them smile with humorous realities and helped them laugh at their own folly.  I've never sugar-coated or tip-toed for anyone.  And at the end of each day, I come home to my room, my cat, my books and my itunes library.  And I'll make a playlist for the night, climb into my bed followed by my loyal feline friend, curl up with a book - and the shy tears will trickle down.  And its not every night that ends up this way - but when they do, the first thing I lament is the inability to be vulnerable in front of anyone else because they refuse to handle me in such a state.  Amy's always so strong, so passionate, so focused, so determined - how could anything ever get her down?  How, indeed.

I'll be the first to announce that I didn't ask for the stigma.  Sometimes all I really want to be is a fragile, soft, sweet girl who people can understand as able to be heartbroken or stepped on or used.  I'd like people to adopt a perspective that perhaps the reason I can console on such a broad spectrum just might be because I've been there - I've felt that - I remember the pain... but most importantly, I remember a colder version of the wound - the kind without the hug, without the fingertips to wipe the tears.  I remember "you're a tough girl, you'll get over it."  And it resonates, still.

Perhaps I still have some of that fight left in me.  If I can reach deep down one more time and pull that passion for self-preservation, wrestle it once again - this time, I'll fight to defend my own emotions.  Instead of resigning myself to losing another battle, to finding myself in another emotive failure, I will give a little bit of myself every day to keeping this alive - at least until two fingers grip the wick and douse the flame.

And through it all, the nice warm feelings of hope and the pangs of empty regret, I can't help but feel like I made a lovely mistake of which I'll pay the price for quite some time.  "And I'll say my prayers, light myself on fire, and walk out on the wire once again..."