Fighting your own mind; Holding on to hope


I would do anything to know about the idea of silence.

     What does it really feel like to live in the quiet? Maybe this is where my desires come from for my future. I don’t see a four-year college education, career, or a house filled with kids and a partner of many years. The ideal for me is a house far away from anyone else. I wouldn’t mind being alone there, either. 

     For the 18 years I have been conscious on this Earth, there has been little to quiet my brain. With the constant battle between extremes, there has never been a feeling of stability. I long for this. I crave it. I wanted to give anything to quiet it all. I didn’t care about the consequences that came with the idea, either.

     I gave up on myself for so long; I gave up on the idea that I could feel better. The idea that maybe I could become someone outside of what my brain is. Outside of what my trauma has done to me. I gave up on wanting to feel better, the drive to be happy. I let my sadness and anger consume me.

      I thought that if I stopped fighting it,  it would all go away. If I just let my brain win with what it is shouting at me to do, it will get better. But that is not how it works. There has never been a time in life where you are shown that if you just give up, it will get better. I am starting to realize that. 

      When you give up on yourself, you also give up on those around you – the people who care about you and love you – so even if you can’t find the will to do it for yourself right now, do it for them.

      I don’t know if it will get better. But, I have hope, I have hope that the good days will outweigh the bad ones. I have hope that I will stop seeing the world in black and white. Hope is the most precious thing you can be able to hold on to, especially when your own brain is against you. 

      I see the light in everyone else: see how they are good, strong, and deserving. I put myself into a whole separate area from those people. As far down into the ground away from the light as I could. I allowed myself to be blind, because if you cannot see the good, you must not be able to see the bad, too. But that is not how it works. You become unknowing that the light is even there. You comfort yourself with your own sadness and allow it to consume you – to destroy you. 

      Digging yourself out of this hole is one of the most difficult things you can do, but it also remains to be one of the most important decisions you can make. So dig with your hands. Crawl your way out with everything in you. Keep pushing. The light is warm, it is welcoming, and you are deserving of feeling it.