As we made our way out of the church, I heard my mother tell my father, “Check on her.” He refused, and his reasoning was, “You know she is strong.” When my grandmother died, my mother asked my father to come and support me. He came, but the support was minimal. Fast forward a few years, and I am wallowing in silent despair; my childhood pets had passed, one after another, along with my sister, my uncle, and my cousin, in quick succession. A year later, I survived an abusive relationship, being fired from several different jobs, years of financial uncertainty, and had recently been misdiagnosed with depression, the medication sending me into a manic episode I almost couldn’t get out of. At the culmination of all of my despair, my “closest friend” (his words) dissolved our friendship since I was not texting him back fast enough. Meanwhile, I’d put myself on a dangerous path of drug abuse to cope with the dizzying amount of awful things and people happening to me.

The moniker placed on me was “strong.” Yes, I know it seems like everyone is dying, and if you’re not in a drug-induced deep sleep, your mind is screaming insults at you and replaying every terrible life occurrence since age 5, but get over it. I need something right now. I noticed that the demands people put on me were so extreme compared to what they asked of others in their lives. When I asked for grace or a little space, people abandoned me or attempted to hurt me worse. 

I used to hate living this way; like the standard for me was so much higher than it was for everyone else. I am the person people lean on when something happens, and borrow money from that they never plan to pay back. What does it matter? She has so much already. Why would I need to pay her back? This happened so often, I began to feel like the universe owed me.

Everything I had ever desired came into my life in full when I decided to isolate myself. I cut off all friends and family and refused any idea of romance. When I am involved with someone, I cannot help but help them, even if it means putting myself at a disadvantage. So it was easier to be alone. I am a teacher at a dropout recovery school, so I get to exercise my very human need to help others at work, but that is it; my phone stays on do not disturb. 

I acknowledge that I am more capable than most people in my life. I have a higher attention to detail, a better memory, and I am more strategic and empathetic. Empathetic to a fault, really. I accept that my tears cause more harm than good, because sometimes people need an unwavering force to look up to. What I have learned is not to sacrifice my life for the good of someone else. I don’t need to pick up anyone else’s slack but my own when it comes to my personal life.

My desired life has flowed into me. I’ve written stories that have lain dormant in my heart for decades, and I am on my way to reaching my full potential. I am happy alone. What regular people feel when they are alone is what I have felt when I am with others. By living authentically, I have put myself in spaces where other strong people commune. The universe has paid me back in full for every hand I’ve held and every dollar I’ve given up. I am grateful for my life, even though it was difficult, because had those things not happened to me the way they did, I would not be the person I am today, who gets whatever she wants.