THE TRUTH, FINALLY It started small, when I was young. If I could be perfect, could undo the pain my mom and dad had accumulated— the meaning of my life would be significant. A pattern emerged in me of fixing things, although I could not repair myself. The pain I chose to shoulder consumed my life. My dad—depressed; my mom—regrets, but I can fix it, I thought. I can take their pain. It’s my responsibility to ensure they’re proud, to be their joy in life. It’s my responsibility to fix a host of others— everybody—to be strong for them so they don’t have to be. But I am not perfect. I have made mistakes. I’ve disappointed them— my friends, my family, my boyfriend, too. I’ve failed them all. That’s how I feel. I know it sounds stupid, but now you know the truth.
Art and literary journal of University of Jamestown, Jamestown, N.D.