So Full
Full. I am so full. I know that I know what the feeling of fullness should feel like, yet I’m always at the limit of hitting my capacity. I’ve had enough – of all of it. Food, things, people trampling all over me like I’m their doormat. Limits have been met, reached, and I’m no longer here for it. I’m full! Done. While the above sentiment relates to so much more than food, I think I should probably limit my rant here to just that. I could go on for eons how I’m over people telling me what to do, who to be, how to act and what to think. I’m done with bossy. I’m my own boss. The strength lies within me! I’m done with everyone thinking they know what’s best for me and what I “truly want.” No, I don’t want a baby. No, I don’t need a mate to fulfill me. I am enough. I have enough. I have more than enough. I’m full. Yet again, maybe I’m not full with what I truly wish was fulfilling me? Has that been what’s driving me all along? I consume to fill up something. The void.