Responsibilities
݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁
Responsibilities are easy, they say, yet I’m sitting there stone-faced and cracking while listening to the venom spewed from a hypocrite’s mouth. Responsibilities are easy, they say. That’s what they all call it, even when they wrap around my throat like a noose because I’m overwhelmed and shut out from the warm understanding that others get so freely.
I learned young that responsibilities were draining, babysitting children who were allowed to disrespect me because they became my mother’s mirror while she sank into her own funk with alcohol. Cycle around and around and around like wheels on a motorcycle, nothing changes, but everything has changed.
Man after man until finally one claimed to stay, but still that paternal feeling in my chest that mixes with the rage that bubbles like a potion overflowing in a cauldron. The warmth and toxicity combine into a toxic comfort that I hold close and use as fuel to get through the day. Responsibilities are easy, they say. Responsibilities are only “easy” when distributed as equally as possible.
Responsibilities are only “easy” when you’re taught how to handle them and do them properly, instead of shutting down when things are overwhelming, instead of standing there and staring at the task like it’s a snake about to swallow you whole. Responsibilities are easy, they say. But the responsibility of fighting with siblings and being in the wrong all the time is draining, of being forced to spend all day washing and folding everyone’s laundry until I slack off and have no energy to do homework.
Responsibilities are easy, they say. But they don’t know what it’s like to try to shoulder those responsibilities with mental health you handle alone. But it's okay, apparently, responsibilities are easy.
