The Weight I Carry
I carry a weight most people canāt see,
hidden beneath smiles and quiet replies.
A burden stitched into my shoulders,
behind tired eyes and sleepless nights.
Every day I wake and choose to fight
a war that never fully ends.
Not against the world around me,
but against the ghosts within.
They see my past before they see me.
A label before a name.
As if the worst chapter of my story
is all that I became.
They donāt see the battles won at dawn,
when cravings whisper in my ear.
They donāt see the strength it takes
to choose recovery over fear.
They judge the scars without the healing,
the wreckage without the repair.
They speak of addiction as a failure,
never knowing I am still standing there.
And that weight grows heavy.
The weight of proving Iāve changed.
The weight of rebuilding trust.
The weight of being watched for mistakes
while carrying a past I cannot adjust.
Yet the heaviest burden isnāt addictionā
itās the shame the world tries to hand me.
The belief that because I once fell apart,
Iāll forever be who I used to be.
But these shoulders have carried more
than most will ever understand.
Iāve carried withdrawal, guilt, and grief,
and still found the strength to stand.
So when you see me walking forward,
donāt mistake my silence for ease.
Every step is a victory earned
through storms that brought me to my knees.
I am not weak because I struggled.
I am not broken because I fell.
I am proof that a soul can survive
its own personal hell.
And though the weight still rests upon me,
and stigma follows where Iāve been,
I carry it with my head held highā
Because recovery isnāt my shame.
Itās the greatest fight Iāve ever won.
