Number Two Eraser

I feel like a worn down eraser of a number 2 pencil I get tired of feeling like I am fighting everyone who thinks they are so much more important or that they can say whatever they want to me while when I fight back somehow that makes me bad...a bitch, a bad person, a bad wife, a bad sister, a bad mother, a bad friend or whatever while all I have ever tried to do was love and care about other people in a genuine way. I feel like I have been used so much that like an eraser I am nothing but a nub that leaves ugly streaks ruining everything I come in contact with whereas when I started out I knew I had power to make changes. There was once beauty in the changes I could make, in the way I made my strokes as I tried to wipe out each mistake that I myself made, or others that I found that I knew I had the knowledge or the power the change. But I don’t make beautiful strokes anymore. I am not even sure I recognize mistakes, my own or those of others. Perhaps it is I that am the mistake. I am worn out, worn down, and perhaps ready to be retired. Used up and useless, something that if picked up, I am quickly discarded once it is known that I can no longer be as useful as I once was. A burdensome part of a utensil that serves no purpose once it’s use is gone. I don’t understand why I can’t be removed because I can never be made new and I can never serve the purpose for which made again.