Sad Sponge

That's what I am, at least in the eyes of my brother--and rightly so. He found a simple way to define exactly what I am. A sad sponge.

No, not a sad sponge-- some lonesome sea sponge that wallows in it's own pity at it's inability to reproduce through budding.

Rather, water is to sponge, as sadness is to me.

I absorb all the sadness around me, albeit my own or those in my life. I search for sadness, I feed of sadness, I harbor sadness.

I can't seem to move to work on my own issues until those around me have had their problems alleviated. I try to take that sadness, that frustration, that suffering and make it my own. Once they're uplifted, then I can tackle my issues at hand.

What an exhausting life, the life of the sad sponge.

What happens when max absorbancy is reached? Rupture? Apathy?

Who knows, but I certainly feel I'm reaching my breaking point as of late and there's no one to blame but myself.

Is it too much to ask to be able to help others and still be able to lead the life I'd like to? Apparently so.