Damage.

I have a problem.  I know there are so many people suffering in the world; so many people live in the middle of tragedy, violence, suffering.  And I'm a whiner.  I have a "perfect life."  Anyone can see it.  But, I'm still complaining.  I'm sad.  I look at my grandmother, who lost her husband, her whole life, yet she is there to love and support all of us, the family.  They were the pillars of our family, and she has taken all the weight, with her frail body, and is holding us up.  Why can't I be like her?

A storm over our favorite place, York Harbor.

I have a wonderful husband.  He loves me unconditionally, as no other could love me.  I have twins, a boy, and girl, who are lovely and sweet.  They are good children.  We only are struggling financially, because I'm not working, but otherwise, we do very well.  We have what we want.  We have no fear of losing our jobs.  We own a nice house.  We have nice cars.

I love my job.  I love teaching.  I love my students.  When I am in the classroom, I look out at them, looking back and me, and I see each one of those kids is somebody's Michael or Stella.  Each teenager is someone's baby.  And for God's sake, if they don't have parents who show them that love, then teachers do end up filling that rule.  We are not pals.  We are not buddies or peers.  We are replacement parents, in many ways, for the children who need us.  I don't care what anyone says about student/teacher relationships.  When you work in a low income, high needs town, the students need something more from us.  It's exhausting, but we give ourselves because that's why we became teachers in the first place.

Beauty after the storm.  York Harbor, Maine.

I'm not physically perfect, but I'm at least physically healthy, and not particularly ugly.  Let's admit it, people deemed unattractive by others have a tougher time in life, in many respects.

I was raised in a very loving environment.  My grandparents lived right around the corner, and I spent my summers there, swimming in their pool, with my cousins.  I have lots of cousins.  We are all like brothers and sisters because of our childhoods.  We all lived within walking distance of each others' houses.

I believe in God and Heaven.  Faith brings depth to our lives when we know there is something bigger.

But our little worlds can become so stifling.  Everything can close in, so you can lay your palms flat on each wall, standing in one place.  And there is no strength to push.  I don't want to try.

There are so many days where I feel like I am just barely hanging onto the edge and someone is trying to pry my fingers loose one-by-one.  As I make decisions about life, I sometimes feel like I should just let go and make it easier.  I will fall where they want me to fall.

And I wonder if it's possible to become emotionally and spiritually damaged enough to turn into a sociopath?  When you do things, that are so far from what you ever would want for your life, you break. When you knowingly walk into the fire, the burns are your fault.  And it's bad; bad burns, that fester and smell, and crack.  Is it even skin anymore?  It's ugly.  It's disgusting.  No one else can see them, but I can feel them.  Sometimes I try to scratch them, rip them away.  I want to cut off this damaged layer.  A bloody mess would be better.  At least everyone could see it, they can stop telling me, "You'll be okay."

I think too much.  I feel too much.   A sociopath is apathetic.  She has no feelings.  That sounds nice, sometimes.