I always used to pride myself on the fact that I was a dreamer, living with expectations of things that could happen. I guess you could say I was actually an optimist at one time. But the life of this dreamer has led to nothing but heartbreak. No, I'm not talking about the romance kind of heartbreak. Heartbreak when you realize that your dreams have just put your expectations of life way too high. Heartbreak that you realize that you're not the person who can conquer the world, or the city or hell, even some days your own home. Heartbreak when you realize that plans are made to be broken, expecting leads to disappointment, and dreams are just something to keep your mind entertained when you're not busy with something else. Heartbreak when you realize that the adult version of you is nothing like the person you know you should be, but you don't know how you got there or what to do to change. Heartbreak when the fun, creative, smiling woman that you once were is now hidden away in some shell that functions through your everyday life. Heartbreak is knowing that you have to pretend your happiness so the significant people in your life will stay, when all you want to do is just "be".
I keep being told "don't give up", "just hang on", etc., etc. When are people going to realize I am exhausted, and the fingernails I've been hanging on by are ready to break. I've had one dream come true in the last 7.5 years. If the fact that dream wasn't my youngest son, I'd be highly disappointed. Yet, my boys are my reasons. They are the reasons I endure this heartbreak, disappointment, anger, and loneliness. They are the reasons I try somehow to make things better everyday for them. They are the reasons I hide my tears in the streams of the shower, in the pockets of my pillows, and in the words I never speak.