But I don’t look it, do I?
I make naughty jokes, and laugh out loud.
I walk and sing and exercise.
I take hundreds of pictures of my child.
But I’m not quite so carefree inside.
It’s like I’m standing in a bog.
I don’t sink. I just can’t walk out.
My feet aren’t in restraints,
but this massive load weighs me down.
Not crushing, just constant. Relentless.
No, it doesn’t make me want to die
or hurt myself. Well, sometimes I cry.
But it makes confetti of my peace of mind,
evaporates my patience, desaturates my smile,
fans embers of anger into flames sometimes.
And I’m stuck.
And the sane ones, with bog-less minds,
tell me I must stop overthinking,
or just relax. Like I have a switch.
If only they would realise,
their words just add more weight on me.
And keep me stuck.
I 𝘢𝘮 stuck.
But I’m finding my way towards breaking free.
Breathing the strength to push the load off of me,
seeing perfection as the mirage it always was,
conceding that ‘my best’ can often be enough.
I’m stuck right now. But I won’t always be.
© Madhu D Roy