The Strong One

75% of what I write is me projecting an emotion I'm feeling onto a character. This piece is from the other 25% - a direct look into how I feel, albeit still in the 3rd person. These pieces are rare, because they're much more difficult for me to write. Opening up is not something I do easily.

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All her life she had been a nurturer. The one people leaned on. The one they came for advice, to bitch, vent, or cry. The role had been thrust upon her when she was far too young to know how to help herself, much less anyone else, and she knew no other way to live.

Now, don’t misunderstand. She loved helping others. Nothing made her happier. But they would rant and feel better. She would internalize their pain and let it mull until it made her crazy. Not so much with friends – those problems she could let go. But the family problems were eating her alive inside. She could feel them, chipping away at her soul, causing her to suffer just as those she loved did.

She didn’t know how to make it stop. She loved that they came to her, but their issues were far beyond the scope of her 22 years. What did she know of neglect or divorce? How was she supposed to advise someone on how to manage their marriage when she herself had been single for years?

How in the hell did they expect her to deal with her own problems when she was busy helping them? She supposed she was too good of a support system. They leaned on her because she had always been the strong one. They forgot that her brave face was just that. Deep inside, hidden from even herself most days, was a scared, insecure little girl. A girl that sometimes just wanted someone to console her. Hadn’t she earned that yet?


1:37am 8.18.10