Musings on a Monday

I find myself constantly wishing that I could do more for the people I love. That the bits that I do, the bits I am allowed to do, are not enough. I want to swoop in and help out. Even if that’s just being there.

I can’t decide if that’s egocentric bullshit or some impulse to be the hero or if it comes from genuine compassion. It may come from a place of profound pain. And by helping them, I get to feel connected for a few minutes or hours.

This may be the tragedy of self inspection and healing. Every time there is a plateau and you think you are good, there is another yawning pit from which demons claw out. They may be polite or you may realize that you want nothing more than to start crying and you don’t know why. Only that it’s easier to do that than to be hurt.

I want to help, to fix, because I am broken.
Hopelessly cliche, I am aware.

I’m not looking for a person to fix. Or who will fix me. But I can’t help but feel that their is a person shaped hole in my heart, and if it were filled, this… All of this life and wondering and pain, would be a bit easier.

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