So, here I am, writing again today. It’s as if the act of pouring my thoughts onto paper has become a daily ritual—a lifeline in the sea of numbness that often engulfs me lately. Journaling, they say, is an honest companion. And trust me, it’s a far better alternative than those midnight drives that once seemed to be my only escape. Still is, to some extent at least.
Let me take you back to a piece I penned down a while ago:
Healing, for me, wasn’t the picturesque scene of a bubble bath in my favorite jacuzzi, surrounded by scented candles. No, it was far from it.
It was the ugly cries echoing in the bathroom,
The aimless runs under the moon’s odd hours,
The surrender to defeat,
The shattering and rising anew, every single day, multiple times,
It was the battle with appetite, a struggle to eat or force myself to,
It was the solitude,
And sometimes, the crowded loneliness.
It was all of that,
And there’s still more for me to uncover,
As I continue this journey of healing—or whatever you want to call it.
I’m not sure if one ever fully heals or just grows accustomed to the pain over time. Honestly, I’m more inclined to believe in the latter. You adapt to the pain, letting it sear even more, yet somehow finding the strength to carry on with the facade of normalcy.
There’s a quote that recently etched itself into my mind: “The test of a first-rate intellect is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in your head at the same time and still retain the ability to function.”
This year, for me, has been a relentless battle between what I believe is right and what the majority dictates. It’s a daily struggle, a constant conflict that plays out every minute and every second.
The more I try to escape, the more I find myself entangled, giving my all only to lose it in the end yet again afterall. Perhaps, that’s the inherent nature of life—the constant shifting of sands and the evolution of our emotions. Nothing is meant to stay; everything falls apart.
Whether it’s an action, a meeting, or a conversation, it’s all about capturing that feeling and living in the moment. You may never know when it’s the last time you’ll see someone or talk to them.
In today’s world, everything comes with an expiration date. But that doesn’t mean you stop living or exploring; it means trusting yourself to handle the inevitable end, to let go, and to shield yourself from self-inflicted damage.
Easier said than done.
Believe me, or don’t, as I say this lying on a hospital bed. But gradually, step by step, we’ll get there. Until then, care to hold my hand and traverse this path with me one step at a time?