Wandering through life, vivid colours fading to grey and back again. Stumbling, crawling, climbing... obstacles abound, and though I press onward the realization that the journey grows ever more difficult concerns me. Walls press inward, the desire to struggle waning as the days pass.
A ray of hope breaks through, fading quickly as yet another obstruction becomes visible. Colours fade once more, dull pastels remaining. Confidence ebbs as certainty and confusion collide yet again. My heart falters, my mind slips into a state of intense turmoil. This time I barely manage to emerge whole.
The cycle seems never-ending, and each instance feels many times more difficult than the last. My tenacity only carries me so far, and the strength to continue fighting eludes me. The conflict rages on, and somehow I push forward, though definitely not unscathed.
The colours become more vibrant once again, though not as brilliant as they once were. Beautiful as the sight may seem a bleakness continues to permeate my thoughts. I resolve myself to contentment, wondering if the happiness I so desperately seek really exists or is simply a figment of my imagination. I work to rebuild the battered defenses, hoping to at least slow the next assault enough to survive.
Crimson, a colour so rich and intense that it almost becomes painful to see. After a moment I realize it to be emanating from the wounds I sustained, flowing gently over me. My knees quiver. The ongoing assault taking its toll as the lack of rest catches up to me...
If ever I questioned the meaning of our lives I question it tenfold now, and yet something gives me hope even in my darkest hours. Perhaps it is the hopeless romantic that somehow manages to cling to the tiniest sliver of life, or the sheer stubbornness of a person who refuses to give up no matter the personal cost. Regardless of what the reason truly is, I continue to push forward. No matter how depressing things may seem, or how difficult life becomes, it only takes a moment to step back and see that one is not alone.
My struggles are my own to face, but if the time ever comes that I simply cannot continue the fight I know that those few people whom I trust, the people I know are truly friends, would not hesitate to pick me up and carry me through the interim. That knowledge could easily be the sliver of hope that keeps me going, because I know that there may be a time when they will need the same support from me.
I reminisce, there was a time when things were so much simpler. A time when the wounds I suffered were far less severe. Though I have grown stronger with the passage of time so have the forces that besiege my heart, mind, body, and soul. The challenge has become survival.
Bloodied... battered... scarred... I still stand.