Consumed

I've always believed I can make a difference. The faith I have in this is unwavering. When I came home on my tenth birthday to find my mother's fragile mental state swinging into crazed, I still believed I could help. I thought it was a problem of my making, and I've lived my life trying to remedy the mistake every since. Never mind that I don't know what I did. Never mind that she hits me and yells. Forget the fact that I sometimes want to die because I feel so worthless. Ignore all of that because this one idea is all I can think about. Making a difference in her life and others' lives consumes me. But will it destroy me too? Maybe. Maybe not. I'll find out when I reach the breaking point.

As to where that point is? Only time will tell. The only thing I know for sure anymore is that I have to try to make up for my sins, whatever they are. And until I do that, I doubt I'll ever find my peace.