Molehills

America,

How often do we walk these silent sufferings, and no one knows? How frequently do we navigate endeavors or hurts and no one knows? Sometimes there are scenarios where there is little to say, and nothing to do, but the hurt is big. SO big.

I like to make molehills out of mountains. I like to convince myself that big deals really aren't.

I'm climbing and climbing and I'm mentally wearing out of this incline is little. It's almost over. My muscles are aching and sore and I've got little left in my reserves, if anything at all.

I don't want to talk about it. I want to be able to discuss the emotions, and the lessons learned, while processing in silence. This is my "molehill" and I want to rock it to its core.

It's not that I have anything to prove to anyone, America. It's not that I need you to believe that everything is perfect or lovely or blah blah blah. To be honest, I am much too complicated to waste time on that kind of nonsense. I'm vastly imperfect, and I'm married to a vastly imperfect person. I'm okay with that. I'm even more okay with you being completely aware of it. I am comfortable with being both perfect and deeply damaged. I'm also okay with you not grasping that concept or thinking it makes even the slightest bit of sense.

Don't mind me while I'm over here with my molehills.