The Return

I’ve decided to return to who I was before. The old (younger) me who was so full of life, so motivated and so giving; before absolutely all innocence was robbed of me. The old me who achieved excellence in whatever he put his mind to. Yes, it is not something that could simply be decided on, but it’s an important first step towards being the best version of myself.

I used to think pain was a good teacher, that suffering teaches you lessons and sacrifice was the path to salvation. However, I am coming to the realization that the lessons it teaches should be forgotten. It does not help at all; it is like the chain that anchors your leg down when you’re desperately trying to swim up to the surface. As I grew older and suffered, I took faith that I have always known where the keys were kept, and it just takes enough suffering to recall where the key was to unlock the shackles. Now, I see that the chain was never there in the first place

I couldn’t swim up because, deep down, I didn’t want to. It was more comfortable drowning in the ocean floor, because after you’ve been trapped in something for a long time, you forget the life on the surface. It is uncomfortable, yes, but it was all you’ve known for a while, and it was at least familiar.

However, this is the wrong way of thinking. Loss and pain is all that’s left of what we’ve lost. We should remember what we’ve lost, but never be trapped in it, or feel that it is the norm of things. Always remember that it is ironically a blessing to feel so much pain-you only feel immense loss for someone or something you’ve loved as immensely.

Even if the shackles weren’t imaginary, it is rusting. I’m starting to swim towards the light on the surface, to return to where I came from before I jumped inside the waters. These are deep waters, but if I could swim all the way down, I must be able to rise again.

 

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“Our life is shaped by our mind; we become what we think. Suffering follows an evil thought as the wheels of a cart follow the oxen that draws it.
Our life is shaped by our mind; we become what we think. Joy follows a pure thought like a shadow that never leaves.”
Gautama Buddha

What it feels like

It’s never ever feeling safe. It’s never taking a full breath of air in your lungs. It’s the feeling of walking barefoot over glass, except the feeling is all over your body every time you leave your house.
It’s being afraid to close your eyes. The vulnerability you feel during the split second of blindness as you sneeze is terrifying.
It’s knowing in your bones that other human beings have the power to destroy you. That you can be victimized, no matter how hard you fight or cry or yell. That even someone you trust as a friend or as family can turn on you faster than a wolf when hunger hits.
It’s knowing in your bones that other human beings have the power to destroy you. That you can be victimized, no matter how hard you fight or cry or yell. That even someone you trust as a friend or as family can turn on you faster than a wolf when hunger hits.
It’s being told that not everyone wants to hurt you, but you can’t stay grounded long enough to truly get to know anyone. It’s spending most of your time alone because you are terrified of other human beings, sometimes even your friends. You tell yourself it’s better that way, but loneliness still ravages you when you least expect it.
STUCK. Stuck in the moment of horror, unable to move past it. The feeling is very much like being trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up.It is as close to death as you can possibly imagine; you actually believe you’re not going to make it. It’s like something bigger than the universe stole your identity and soul and your left as a shell, stuck on repeat that beats you down further.
Horror.
You feel like you were born a target and that’s all you’ll ever be. Danger is all you know, it’s everywhere.
It feels like prison.
It feels like Hell.
There is a delicate porcelain figure. It is not the beautiful kind you see on a shelf, it is ugly beyond description. The slightest wind will knock it over and break it forever. So it is locked inside a great double-walled brick box. It must never see or be seen. It therefor will not experience pain of any kind. Nor will it, however, experience anything. Not love, affection, the wind in her hair, nothing. To protect this creature is the one and only goal.In spite of being protected from breakage, it is, in fact, already destroyed. And dead.
Dean Hunt

When I was a child, my father woke me every morning with the same phrase: ‘Life is a great sunrise.’ The words shaped the way I saw the dawn, but after my father was taken from me, the morning sun burned like fire. That’s when I learned what hatred was, and that it would greet me each day to come.