I’ve always said that I work better alone. I thrive in my own space, and I prefer to be on my own time. I’ve never really been the kind of person that relied on someone else, at least, that’s what I like to tell myself.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t crave another person’s touch when life starts to falter.
I try to handle things on my own, I do, but I fail more often than I succeed. I need people, I just don’t admit it.
I don’t really know where that unearthly stubbornness comes from, but I do know how painful it has made my life. It’s hard for me to admit that I can’t handle it all, and it’s even more difficult for me to ask for help.
Nothing makes me feel more like a failure than the realization that I can’t bear the weight of the world.
But at the same time, a sense of relief washes over me when I am reminded that I’m not alone. When I feel my mom’s arms around my shoulders, and hear her whisper in my ear that everything will be okay, I’m at an inexplicable peace. Sometimes, that’s all I need.
I need someone to tell me everything will be alright when it’s 3 in the morning and I can feel my skin crawl with anxiety.
I need someone to tell me everything will be alright when I’m sitting in a restaurant and I become overwhelmed by the aroma of fresh food, but also the terrifying thought of allowing sugar and fat and calories to invade my body.
I need someone to tell me everything will be alright when I look in the mirror and all I see is flat hair, broke-out skin, a fat face, and an ugly body.
I need someone to tell me it’s going to be alright.
You don’t have to mean it. I know you don’t know either. Just tell me. I really need to hear it.