Shame

It's Thursday night and I'm drowning.
It's easy to pretend my internal struggle runs as deep as insecurity and loneliness. It's easy when I'm not home.
The world and my family and my hatred swallow me whole. I'm insignificant in the greatest sense of the word.
I want to be enough to make my mom happy- but I'm not. I'm proud of her and I love her and she's always been enough. I love her so much. I wish it was enough for her. I don't have the power to make her happy. I wish her happiness didn't lie with people who, while I love them, aren't worth the trouble. I wish she could see how strong and smart and sweet and warm she is. I wish she could see how much I look up to her. I wish that she could hear me when I said these things. I wish she could be happy knowing that.
I'm insignificant. Because, while she didn't need to say it directly, I know I'm a part of the shame. I'm not enough. And that's okay.
But I want her to be enough for herself. I can't make her love herself. I don't know how to make someone love themselves. But I love her. I love her.