For the longest time, while trying to heal from some incident the next one would come wounding me deeper.
Needless to say that I am tired. A wounded soldier.
I can think that I am weak. But looking back on things when my mind would want to give up and just go I dont know bonkers, I would pull myself together. Trying hard to not go there. Trying hard to stay sane. Trying hard to cope.
I am not weak, I just realized that now.
I am so many things but not weak. Because I am still here fighting.
There's just really so much to sort in addition to being a mother.
I kept on saying this helps, that helps, that might help but the only things that is pulling me up from going under is actually probably being a mother.
Amazing how my child is innocently feeding me with determination to fight.
When darkness is embracing me and its easier to embrace back I would hear my son's voice, his laugh, his singing. His voice is enough for me snap out of it and go back.
Which makes me think of my own mother. Who was in a same situation before. A hard relationship with an alcoholic man. Do we (me and my sister) keep her fighting? Keeps her sane when things are so hard.
Do our smile take her back to life when things are almost dead?
Being a parent is such an overwhelming responsibility.
But it can also be a saving grace.
I am just glad that during the dark days and cold nights I have my son. I am so glad that he is loud, always laughing and expressive because his noise pushes away the demons in my head.
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