Sometimes I get so sick of wearing this fake smile. What I really want to do is throw sh+t across the room. I get tired of working, and when my check comes, spending every cent on everybody but myself. I don’t ask for much, but it’s more than a pack of cigarettes! Work-sleep, work-sleep, is the story of my life. What once held happiness and genuine joy, now holds resentment, stress, and high blood pressure. I don’t mind giving you my money if I feel it’s appreciated instead of expected. What if what I make isn’t enough to cover all the decisions you made throughout the week? I’m the one that worries over it, and it breaks my heart to know I can’t help. Is it the fact that I can’t help that breaks my heart, or the fact that you make these decisions expecting me to cover you? I love you more than any other, but you’re draining the spirit right out of me.
image- Evil Erin