It's come to my attention that every person in whom one confides has a limit. You all amaze me because you don't seem to. I couldn't be more thankful.

Others, though, in my personal life absolutely do have limits. It started with my mum. I learned pretty quickly not to trust her happy moods, because anything confided when she was being supportive and friendly could become a weapon when she was in one of her foul moods. It didn't stop me from talking to my friends, though.

Each person I was honest with, spoke with, listened to, confided in, eventually reached that breaking point. It comes with a "what's your problem now?" Or sometimes a "Deal with it." At some point, each person you spout your innermost secrets to will have enough, become tired of dealing with your drama, and stop talking to you entirely.

Even my boss, who is also a friend and takes a deep interest in my life, once told me that it didn't matter if I was going through a hard time (after the flood), because I was ALWAYS going through a hard time. He was starting to doubt I could handle the job, because of telling him the events from my outside-of-work life when asked.

I have tried my best to learn from it. I try to anticipate when I've said too much, something too personal, or something that might upset someone or give them the impression that I am weak, not able to cope, or sub-par. I lie and say things are fine, even when I'm crying on the other end of the phone. The last thing anyone needs after receiving bad news or dealing with a crisis or a difficult time is to have it held against them.

Yeah, I live a pretty active life. I volunteer firefight, or at least I am training for it. I foster, rescue, and network for homeless animals or pets in need of funding. I have a billion and one hobbies I flip between when I get the chance. I am attempting to continue school so one of these days I can finally finish one of the degrees I've started and still put food in the dog bowls, if not on the table. I live two days in every one, and it's the only way I know how to do it. So I guess I DO have a lot going on. I guess there IS a lot wrong with me, and I guess I DO always have something big and frightening on my plate.

But everything is important to me. I give 110% to every problem and every mundane task, too. I give 110% at work and studies, regardless of my personal life. I give 110% just keeping my head above water, and it hurts to be accused of doing everything to myself – of getting what I deserve, because stupidly, I care too much.

There are some things I can't predict, though. The flood was one I am still coping with. I didn't do that. They still have my fucking money, both my deposit and all the electric bills AFTER we moved out that they never disconnected. The claims for our rental insurance is threatening to close the claim even though we haven't finished itemizing everything we've lost, which is a traumatic experience in itself.

Then tonight…

I get a call from my mother. A day or two ago my grandfather was hospitalized for a clot in his upper thigh. They couldn't operate, and they couldn't amputate, because his organs were not well enough to handle anesthesia. They sent him home, on a constant morphine drip, to wait for him to die. Today, my mother informs me that they've raised his dosage to deal with the pain of the gangrene rising up his leg, his breathing keeps stopping because his heart is failing too, and the doctor was surprised he had survived last night.

She asks if I'm alright. Not because she knows we were close, but because I was "always the overly sensitive one." I tell her about the tattoo I was planning to commemorate him – a small cat next to a planted flower and a trowel. He was the one who taught me how to garden, and he gardened until the day they took him away from his home, even when the doctor told him it would be the death of him. He had a cat that passed a couple of years ago, a yellow tabby, that would sit and watch him garden every morning. He loved that cat more than life itself. I just wanted to do something, so that he wouldn't disappear completely, not knowing who any of us are while his leg rots off his body. I just wanted to fucking do SOMETHING.

She said: Yeah, that's a great idea. You know, considering your grandfather despises tattoos. What a swell choice.

You can't show weakness. Everyone has their limit. I do not know how to cope with this, and she just injured the only hope I had. I don't know how to feel this badly and pretend everything is fine, and I don't see why I should have to.

I just…I just want to be able to cry a little bit and go to bed.

All of your endless support…this place is absolutely amazing, and so are all of you. Please let me know if there is ever anything I can do in return. I want to be here for you just as much, and I never tell anyone to suck it up. 🙂