I’d share my story, but it’d break your damn heart.
I wouldn’t leave out any horrid details, but it’d tear you the fuck apart.
And when I share a small part, I just can’t stand the look in people’s eyes.
It’s as if they become sad, and I can see that a little piece of their soul dies.
For my story is not of glory, nor of anything good.
It’s not as if I don’t want to speak up, it’s just that I don’t think I should.
Each waking moment – a living nightmare.
And yet, I still find myself unable to share.
And just like a Phoenix,
I rose from the ashes of my past.
For I’ve learnt that you cannot let yourself burn,
all in the name of a memory.
It may still hurt me,
but it will not end me.
It’s not about getting better, it’s about growing into someone you want to be.
Everyone dreams of being a certain version of themselves, and to reach that point is a difficult, but endlessly rewarding feat.
In reality, normality does not exist – each and every being on this earth is different in many ways. Humans all live differently, think differently and act differently to one another.
We forget about personal growth when we focus on trying to be someone else.
So go ahead and focus on your growth, find out what your normal is – because it certainly isn’t the same as anyone else’s.
You will find the happiness that seems ever-so elusive to you.
You’re worthy of this life, not a burden, but a human being who happens to be suffering.
To a lot of people, you are a ray of light, that shines through on the dark days in their lives. You make life brighter for them, simply by existing and being unapologetically you.
I know it gets hard at times. Hell, even unbearable. But it’s important to remember that you are here for many reasons.
Find your passion. Chase your dreams. Tell people how you feel. Try your hardest. Choose life and happiness will find you.
And sometimes I think it’s all in vain, this constant struggle to be okay.
There is no undoing what’s been done, nor is there any fixing it.
To tell you the truth, I feel weak. I’m ever so tired from the relentless fighting for my own will to live.
Sometimes my thoughts knock me around, to the point of an ever so long fall into the pits of negativity and depression.
And although I have fallen before, each time I stood up with my dignity in tact, my mind a little wiser and my skin a little thicker.
I will not be held hostage by fear of falling again. I simply won’t waste my time like that anymore, because it’s just another aspect of life.
I refuse to be a person that lets their lowest moments define them – because I’m quite sure, that if that were the case, I’d be a goner.
The storm was everlasting and came in many different forms.
Monsoons of depression, tears and wretched thoughts drowning the innocence and life within.
Thunderstorms were the fits of anger that could not be fathomed or reasoned with. They were the most frequent of the storms and oh, how they ravaged her.
And Mania? Mania was the aftermath of a storm almost, filled with frighten and panic. She no longer felt happy in these stints, because she knew it was yet another storm.