Priest, Therapist, Me

With most of the people I know, I become the person you go to for some form of support. Whether it's as confidante, sage, counselor, mom, or just a shoulder to cry on, I am the person to go to.

It's not that I don't mind it. Generally, I don't. When I was a child in the midst of all my turmoil, I remember laying on my back, looking skyward, and promising the universe that other people would never have to suffer the consequences of feeling utterly alone like I felt. Guess I signed a pact with the invisible forces back then because I've definitely filled the role of person to lean on.

I don't know if what I give is sound. I don't know if what I provide is sane. I give heartfelt words that stem from experience, observation, and gut reaction.

But sometimes, it keeps me up at night.

My mind becomes so active with other people's worries and concerns and guilts that my unconscious mind never lets itself unwind. I have this tiny, very alert center in my head that makes me restless. And I'm left extremely tired and feeling responsible for everything.