The Weight of Responsibility

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Have you ever had something bugging you so much that you felt like there was nothing else except this terrible weight on your mind? Irritating you to the point you need more then anything to scream no matter who’s around but every time you try your voice comes out as a whisper, a sigh of anguish. That’s what responsibility is to me. Not a problem nor a solution to one. Not good or bad. It breaks me down until I feel as if I can’t walk and then helps me up and pushes me along. A knot that gets pulled tighter and tighter every time you try to forget, and in the middle of that not is me, the very essence of who I am. Responsibility. The invisible, unsolvable, unbearable “problem”. Responsibility for the future and the past.


An invisible weight on everyone's back. The ropes around my arms and legs holding me back but the wind behind me pushing me forward.  Combined hope and fear because it is the foundation upon which you built your life but that will not stop it from crumbling. Bits and pieces chip away until the house can't hold itself up; the walls cave in, and the ceiling collapses, all while you stand in the middle.


My ankle rubbed raw from this weight I drag behind day after day; there must be a way to lighten the load and give my family and everyone who’s ever believed in me what they’re owed. I carry this weight everyday. It’s my choice, but my burden. Responsibility, something we all carry, but the weights vary.I’m standing in an open field. I’m alone but it feels  like I’m being watched. Tall grass reaches up my ankles and holds me down. The ground splits open into a mouth with thousands of deadly teeth waiting to chew me up.

 

The house. Walls of a drab gray adobe. Red tile roof cracking from baking in the heat of the sun. A heavy oak door swings out of place in the archway to enter. Floor of stone covered in a plethora of shag carpet. A folding chair, paint rubbed off from continual use, lies in the corner forgotten. All light coming in from the door you see the lightswitch and give it a flick, causing the room to suddenly change. Music fills the house, the old metal chair is replaced by a recliner big enough to fill a normal room by itself, a TV is hanging on the wall, freshly dusted, and you see the kitchen, parallel to the room where you currently reside, full of food.


In a tunnel of wind my hair blown back. My eyes are glossy despite the gusts drying them out. My hands clenched tightly my fingernails digging into my palm. I'm lost in a  place I’ve been my entire life. I'm stuck in an uphill battle with myself, and i'm winning and losing.


It hasn't ended and I don't plan on it ending. There will always be expectations I and others set for myself. Through preparation I’ve learned how to keep the house standing; arms holding up the walls, roof on my back. Bracing for impact and surviving the storm is only part of the battle, but it's a part that I feel I’ve mastered. I’ve been made stronger and now I know that not reaching the end isn't THE END. I’m not scared of failure anymore, now i'm happy for my success.






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