The cat-hair covered chair creaked beneath me as I stared into a window that has watched me for these last eleven years. Everything I've felt, every promise that had passed my lips, every dream I chased, every change that I have gone through, and every failure has been recorded faithfully in the dust that has collected on the glass over the years. I hear the tears fall around me, still raining from every mistake I've made. And all I can do is sit and stare into the window at the reflection that I'm only starting to recognize, and act like I believe everything happens for a reason and that whatever comes will be for the best.
But I'm so sick of always having to be the strong one. I'm sick of being the cold, apathetic asshole that seems to ignore the severity of any situation because no one else has the strength to pull through it. I can't keep holding everyone up when I can't even hold myself up anymore. I need help, but the only support I can get is from the bottom of a bottle.
I looked up at the bright blue kitchen cabinets and cracked the first smile in weeks as I remembered when we first moved in eleven years ago we swore those would be the first things to be repainted. It's almost funny how many things that we absolutely hate at first eventually grow on us until we no longer even notice them. And I think that in a few short months, when we've lost all of this we'll look back and finally appreciate them, and every other imperfection that we lived with for so long. I just wish I knew how to do this, to support a family when I can barely support myself. I wish I knew how to fix everything that I've messed up.
We desperately need someone who is looking for a place to stay for a while, someone who can help pay the mortgage until we figure out what to do; and someone who could move in immediately. Let me know if you're interested.