No More Room

There is a pattern: I strive too hard. I exhaust myself. I get sick.

I find it harder and harder to keep up. To do everything I want to do. To do everything I feel I have to do.

For a long while now, I've felt a sickening sense of falling behind. I can't keep up, can't support other writers in the ways I'd like–mostly because I don't have time, yes, but also, and this is what's really dragging me down, because it wouldn't be honest.

Today I'm falling. Period. So much feels wrong. My gut is screaming and I don't want to hear what it's saying: Break away.

Today, my heart is an inn with no more room. It's past capacity and the pressure hurts.