My shirt is soaking wet.
My makeup is streaked and my cheeks are flushed.
I cannot stop the tears that flow from a broken heart. A heart that loves more than I know what to do with, but is still so selfish and desires so much.
I cannot be 8 months pregnant and be the supportive wife of a man who just lost his father. The weight is too heavy and I am crumbling under the pressure.
I was mean and rude and demanding and accusatory and everything that I'd hoped I'd never be, especially when he needs me most.
But I failed him, as I always will, because I cannot do it on my own.
I need help. This is too hard.
"Lord, please! I cannot keep doing this! I am falling apart."
I cry out to him as I drive, on my way home from the grocery store, where I've planned for the week and suffered the anxiety already of not being enough.
"Why do you only come to me when you are hurting? Why only when you need me?"
"If you only spoke to Aaron when you needed him, how do you think your relationship would be?"
"Talk to me all the time. I will help you."
"I can't stay focused. My mind wanders, I feel like I have too much to do."
"Let me help you."
"Just, let me help you."
Here I am. Asking for help. Only the help that you can give. I cannot do this on my own. I do not want to keep trying. I surrender.