Here I am again. Staring down the barrel. Looking into the abyss. Reaching for my shroud.

I wish I were stronger. I wish people could look at me and say "Bloody hell yeah, that Jay? She's stronger than a strong thing which happens to be strong". I wish I had the strength to not even get into this situation, time and time again. I wish I had more strength to get myself out quicker.

I'm sat in my lounge, next to my patio doors into the garden, and the sun is streaming in. But it's behind me.

The sun is behind me and I can't look at it.

Or maybe I don't want to look at it. Maybe my black shroud is much more comfortable. At least then I don't have to deal with anything else. I don't have to deal with anyone else. I don't have to care.

I wish I had the strength to look at it.

I always thought it was easier to just keep my head down. Keep myself to myself. Let the world pass me by. I never wanted to be where I am, but I want everything I've got, and more.

But I can't even manage it.

I don't know what I want; maybe I'm too confused, maybe I'm too tired. Maybe I do want escape, maybe I want to run away. Maybe I want to forget all of this life, have nothing to do with it. Maybe I don't even want to pack a bag; maybe I just want to close my eyes and sleep. Maybe I don't want to wake up. Maybe I won't wake up.

If I could turn my face to the sun with the promise of something better, but stay asleep until someone could guarantee that for me...maybe that would be the ideal. Maybe I could bask in the warmth of the thought of better things. The blissful idea that there really is better out there.

It's easier for some. Some can shake themselves out. Some can make themselves feel better. Some have help. Many are strong. I don't feel strong. And that frustrates me. But I'm too proud to accept help. It's how I've always been, hasn't it? Too proud to accept help. What doesn't make sense is that it feels like I have nothing to be proud of.

And that just makes me feel even more weak.

I know I have to keep going. I know I have to open my eyes and look at what's going on around me. People will tell me not to be selfish, and to shake myself out of it. Think of my family, think of the kids. Do it for them. They're what matters. They ARE what matters. Does it matter how they see me?

Can they see beyond the fake smiles? Can they see me under my shroud? What if I don't want them to see me?

I guess that's what I do best. Fake smiles. Diversion and distraction. A bit of the colourful me. I'm just nervous that it gets harder and harder every time.

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