I was Superman. I soared through the sky with my scarlet cape fluttering in the wind, sailing behind me like the hopes and dreams that I was leaving behind each time I moved on. I was only there in the first place for my most recent Lois Lane, and after she either stepped up or died I was off again. I was the syrup on pancakes in the morning. I was warm sweet comfort until the world was full of me and my sweetness was starting to make everyone sick. I was a cool drink of water to the thirsty nomad until he thirsted no longer and slowly started to drown. I was relief, but I was never relief for long.

I loved like my entire life depended on it. I helped the underdog to the top then smiled and watched while he bit me. Sometimes I would even offer him my hand. I don’t know why I did it; I think it made me feel better about the poor choices that I made. Those regrets that I didn’t want to dwell on any longer tried to bubble up to the surface, so I would ease them by helping someone else not create any regrets of their own. I tried to take the pain of those around me and carry it on my shoulders to ease their load, then when they felt light enough I would walk away with it still draped around my neck.

Lugging that much pain around eventually got tiring, but even when I was certain that I couldn’t carry anymore, I would accept the next feather of helplessness that came along, then the brick of despair, and after that the boulder of regret, and before I knew it I had enough pressure on my back that the coal of the mix was beginning to turn to diamond. Somehow, though, I never seemed to get any richer. The activity that was supposed to be some sort of relief was only making me tired and sore, and at the end of the day the crushing weight only made it impossible to sleep. I was becoming a zombie.

I tried to stop, I tried to tell those whose burdens I had been carrying for so long that I was tired, but none of them seemed to understand. They depended on me. Not as a friend, or even as company, but as someone to make things lighter for them, and they never needed me beyond that. They also didn’t want to accept the weight that I asked them to carry for me, even if it was only for a little while. That was when I realized that they didn’t care about me.
They didn’t love me for the things that I had done for them, they didn’t even like me. They only wanted me around so I could be sympathetic and nod my head and take their pain away. I was their morphine and they didn’t care if I was comfortable or not, as long as I wasn’t getting too weak to give them their high. It was then that I knew that it had to end. I didn’t tell them, this time, that I needed a break. I did something that was truly kind of cruel. I walked up to them and I was honest, hurling the weight of the things they had trusted me with back in their faces and watched and smiled as they struggled to hold it up.
In theory I lost a lot of people that I loved that day, but in reality I lost nothing at all. Love that’s given but isn’t returned isn’t worth a dime, no matter what anyone says. It still hurts sometimes to think about it, but it’s not the betrayal that causes me pain, it’s looking back on my own stupidity and how I let them use me. I’ve vowed to never again let myself stoop that low, or to weigh myself down. I refuse to lose myself for the benefit of others.
I am proud to stand tall today. I no longer feel the guilt of the things that I can’t change and I no longer feel compelled to console anyone with guilt of their own. I cannot fix their mistakes, and it is not my business if they choose to dwell on them. I am free and I feel as if I can fly. I may no longer be Superman, but I am still a bird, still a plane, and I’m flying away.