Weak

I never wanted to be the weak one.

And yet here I am.

Everything has come to a head today. I am fatigued. So, so tired. I'm barely sleeping because I'm itching and anxious. The itching and anxiety are directly connected it seems; when I have anxiety, my skin feels like it's burning from the inside out. And unfortunately, that's pretty much been all the time.

People say all the time, "you're so brave. you're so strong. you're so positive."

Honestly, I don't feel that way.

I have yelled at my mom this week more times than I'd care to count. I've cried and cried and cried and cried. I've yelled at God, I've been so angry. I've punched my mattress a few times because I literally do not know how to handle this.

I'm not as positive and great at this as everyone thinks I am. I'm really not.

I'm kind of having a breakdown today. It's been two months of a living hell and I want it to stop.

But it won't stop.

I feel abandoned by God, like He isn't listening. I feel lonely. I feel anxious. I feel fearful and panicked and oh, so tangled up inside.

I feel weak.

So this is me admitting it to the world, to myself, and to God. And this is me asking for help, from God, and whoever is out there who can give me little glimmers of hope to hold onto. Because I know my story's not over yet... but it sure as heck feels like it is.

And I need something--no, I need Someone--to help me carry on.