The strength in being weak:

Society values strength. That's a fact. Our capability to put on a brave face and pretend like everything is OK is seen as strong. Don't let anyone know what's really going on or you will be considered weak. Pathetic. Attention seeking. Yes, it's true, the world we live in sees strength as an advantage or something that is to be admired.

But there's something to be said about weakness too. There's power in our ability as a human species to be empathetic and compassionate and sensitive, although I may be one of the few people who believe that. It is our tender hearts that set us apart from other species. I've seen what weakness can do for a hurting heart. It can change everything. It's not always wrong to let emotion show; in some ways, being weak is what can make you strong.

So here's what I've got to say:

All people ever tell me is how strong I am. How I've survived everything life has thrown at me and I'm still here. But what they don't know is that I don't always want to be.

These storms that have come my way have not built up my strength; they've torn down my walls. Demolished the part of me that believed in something bigger. Something better. They killed the hope that was locked away in my soul. The thunder shook my core and released all of my love, while the rain washed away all the happiness.

I have gone through things that have changed me forever. Parts of me have died as I've gone through this life. But there was no funeral for them because I was too scared to let anyone know that they had died. Sometimes, the hard things in life damage you. I know they have damaged me.

Only, I have to hide that part of my life. I have to hide the real me just so you all can go on believing I'm OK. So I'm left here with fake smiles but real pain. Fake laughter but real grief. A fake life but real death. Because just because I'm breathing doesn't mean I'm alive. It means I exist. It means my body occupies a certain amount of space on this planet. That's all it means. But my soul, the very essence of my being, is no longer here. It's dead. And I swear, if one more person tells me to be strong, the storm in me will burst open. Tears will make their way down my cheeks and anger will burst out of me like a hurricane. I will destroy whatever is in my path.

So I beg of you, let me be weak. Don't tell me to be strong. I'm falling apart. And all I need is for you to catch me in your arms when I collapse. I don't need to be told how strong I am. I need you to tell me it's OK that I'm not.