The Tired Behind My Eyes

How often I apologize for my words, and yet, at times, they are the only things that calm my own heart.  I feel a bitter churning in my stomach tonight. My head wants to tell me that it is because of the large glass of tangy homemade lemonade that I drank, but my heart knows better. But then again, who can trust their own heart to tell them the honest truth? I know I can't. I find myself trusting my heart time and time again, only to have it lead me down the wrong path, and how it makes me ache. My eyes feel tight and hot and dry, my hands swollen, and veins bulged. My back aches and I long for sleep and yet it evades me. Once again my mere feelings are poured out upon white sheets of paper and spelled out for hearts to see. I lie here in my bed and I feel so used. By friends who I thought were real, by the very people who are supposed to protect me, and even by my self. It's moments like these that I find living so excruciatingly hard, and I hate myself for it. I hate this weakness of a caring heart; I hate that the very things that give me life only kill me in the end.