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There will be no blood on my hands when we part ways.
I am used to being a caregiver.
I give too much of myself to others and get nothing back in return.
Like psychic vampires, people suck all the empathy from me until nothing remains.
Until I am at my breaking point.
And I question why I let them do this to me?
I simply feel for people too much.
I run around with a bucket of water putting out the fires of others.
Solving problems I feel only I can solve.
And neglecting my own needs
And my own happiness.
Everyone else is always more important.
Until the day I learned to say "No."
The day I put myself first.
I need a mental health day.
A vacation on the beach to stare at the waves and deal with my own problems.
A margarita and a fancy datebook.
I need to plan my own future away from others.
I got to my breaking point and I broke.
Like a passive-aggressive personality type, the cup is now full and overflowing.
I will now be exploited with all the stressors of my world.
All the emotions I tried to repress will come dripping out.
Like a bomb finally going off in my head.
No, I am not okay.
My mind is broken.
I am trapped.
A large boulder just rolled over me and I am stuck here with all my repressed memories.
I now know I can not move this large rock on my own.
I must reach out for others to save my soul.
The same way I have saved theirs.
Only it's hard to ask for help.
It's hard to say I can not handle this on my own.
I need people.
I need a personal assistant.
I need a nap.
I need clarity and guidance.
I am lost in the jungle and vines are wrapped around my legs holding me in place as a lone monkey gives me a stare down and then walks away unimpressed.
But there will be no blood on my hands when we part ways.
The only blood on my hands is my own.
I was so focused on helping others,
That I forgot about myself.
I am now doing shots of vodka with my demons,
and trying to resolve my own sanity.
I am washing my own blood off my hands.
*This poem is featured in "Peeling Sanity."
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