It feels like I aged a hundred years since my Mom died.
Constantly feeling like everyone would judge me if I acted my age and like everyone was in a hurry for me to age and start taking care of them and everyone else.
I couldn't breathe and I hated it.
I still can't breathe presently and I still hate it.
I hate the laughable character I have embodied.
I hate the excessive pressure I put on myself.
I hate the fact that I can't just be myself because I care too much for people's feelings .
I hate the fact that I feel unjustly indebted to the world.
I hate breathing on most days.
I feel unworthy of rest and when I finally get to resting I feel the rest of the world feels I'm unworthy of it.
Dare I say, I may hate myself.
