Now that I have felt the light before, I am sure that it will happen again. Perhaps it won’t be today, or next week or maybe even next month.
But one day, surely, I will see that light and it feel it in all it’s warmth and glory. And I will hold onto that feeling again.
For as long as I need in order to survive.
Sometimes I can’t look in the mirror,
which stops me from remembering that I am here.
I am here,
with a beating heart and many purposes;
even if they don’t seem so clear right now.
It’s okay to cry
it’s not okay to give up entirely.
So I will fight some more,
and my heart will mend in time,
and with that perhaps my mind will too.
I won’t count on anything like that,
but I will continue to have hope and love coursing through my veins;
because without them, what have we got?
I don’t know how to speak when I cannot stand the thoughts that are pulsing through my mind.
I don’t know how to look in a mirror when the face that stares back is so scared and sad.
I don’t know how to breathe when my heart insists on palpitating and running rampant.
I don’t know what to do when I am reminded that I have been crushed into oblivion.
The nights – they’re definitely the hardest.
It is almost as if my brain is so adjusted to being most active and not to mention depressed during the nights, that the sadness comes regardless of how happy I’ve been that day. Or week, or even month.
However, I know that this is just mental illness and maybe also the fact that I’m simply not used to being happy yet. But that’s okay with me, because I can at least recognise that a bad night doesn’t mean a bad life. It just means a bad night, nothing more and nothing less.
We spend so long trying to figure life out, that we forget to live. We do not cherish what we have been given anymore. Forever focused on the bad, which a lot of the time, is problems that we have invented ourselves: purely by catastrophising situations that many people face.
So frequently people will feel or deal with one bad thing in life, then assume that means it is a bad life. This is so far from the truth.
Life is not about everything coming to you easily, it’s becoming triumphant in the face of hardship. It’s about living, despite your fears and worries. It’s about learning and adapting to what you’re given. It’s about deciding to cherish what you have been blessed with, not only on the good days, but every day.
And it was in the absence of diazepam that I noticed many things about myself, that I had previously shut out of my memory banks.
My heart does not break so easily and often becomes cold in the face of heartache, or affection.
My brain thinks an awful lot, in ways that I once longed to forget. It often takes me to places of judgement, and it is there that I am reminded how much I truly loathe the human race.
It’s as if the valium was making me feel level, taking away the bad but not leaving me with any good, either. A catch twenty-two, I suppose.
It was in the greatest pits of despair of my life,
that I found myself.
The voices shouted at one another relentlessly during this time,
but one thing became apparent,
and that was that the voice begging to live was a lot louder, a lot stronger and a lot wiser than the others.
So I muted the other voices.
Of course, sometimes their muffled screams bothered me to no end,
and of course, sometimes they were a lot more clear than the main voice,
but that didn’t stop me from trying to make the best of a bad situation.