a room without windows

my mother says that i am the strongest woman she knows. she is not the sort of woman who is biased where her children are concerned. she could tell you, with absolutely no effort or remorse, of every flaw and failure in her sons and daughter. she would have no trouble doing this. none. she will tell you that i will lie to your face, that i am frivolous with money, that i am crude and irresponsible and selfish and lazy… she can rattle off with great ease every shortcoming, every negative attribute i possess. that one compliment, though… that’s like hope amid all the ugliness in pandora’s box.

i bruise easily. it’s almost pathetic how quickly and marvelously those bruises will form. and i know there are times where i’ve thought that perhaps some of those bruises were caused by brokenness. maybe they were.
i keep thinking of what my friend minn told me once, long ago, that a broken bone tends to heal so that it is stronger than it had been before.
another door has closed for me. another person has deemed me insufficient in some capacity. and so i am here again… in a room that seems to have no windows. a box, like the one my third grade teacher put me in so she wouldn’t have to see me. 
too often i feel as though the world doesn’t want me in it. i’m tired of fighting. i’m tired of having to prove myself. to convince someone that i’m worthy. i’m tired of trying to find and claim a place. and i know that i will get up again tomorrow and make as concerted effort as i can to fulfill the obligations that are expected of me. sometimes i’m just tired of being strong. i really just want to lean for a while. 
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