Sometimes one learns that a stranger has happened upon something you wrote, that it means something to another. This is a gift that means much, something that one can truly be thankful for. Whether my blog provides some type of life-altering meaning or merely a comforting moment really matters not, but simply that it meant something to someone else makes it worthwhile.
I wish my writings had a happier tone to them sometimes. It is so easy to share hardships, pain, fear, loneliness... any of a multitude of emotions that touch us to the core. These writings provide me with an outlet for those things I cannot share openly, and yet I have never truly taken the time to express some of those things that adequately provide any true insight into where I have come. This will still only open a fraction of who I am to the world at large, and yet the knowledge that someone else has happened upon my writings brings me such joy and comfort that I am compelled to share just a little more. With much trepidation, and almost a giddiness of heart, I choose to express a more complete view of my current state of mind, however minimal a glimpse into my soul it may be.
I have grown more detached, or perhaps indifferent is a better choice of wording, over the past couple of years. More and more I find myself withdrawn, moving back toward a time when I solely relied on myself. In some ways I regret allowing someone to get so close, and yet were it not for those experiences I would not be who I am now. I also would not have found the needed friendships that I have formed/reformed during a time when I could no longer rely on myself alone. For that I will always be thankful, and as a result I understand just how much everyone eventually needs a shoulder, a hand, or even just an ear.
I like to think I have found enlightenment with regards to one of the riddles of humanity, though this could easily merely be my desire to be important in some way that makes me label it as such (side note, yes I battle the occasional confidence issue...). I do not think anyone can move beyond any emotion, any hurt, any joy... instead I feel as though everything we encounter, every breath, every feeling becomes a part of who we are. Something that we accept, we pull into ourselves, we learn, and then continue walking whatever path we have chosen based on the decisions we’ve made thus far. As a result of this feeling I find it difficult to battle the logical and emotional oppositions that I encounter at times, yet it brings me comfort to know that everything I face has aided in forging the person I have become. I hold no regrets for anything in my past, not because of pride or a lack of having done things that one should not be proud of, but because had those events never transpired I would not be who I am, and I am happy with the person I have become. This was not always the case, and there are many circumstances regarding my life that I am not happy about, yet I am happy with me (and I hope that makes sense).
I have travelled a very dark path. Often I find myself feeling alone, forgotten. I look around at a world that was once filled with vibrant colors now turned into dull shells of their former selves, and it weighs heavily on my heart, my soul. More and more I feel as though the path I tread does everything possible to destroy me, never ceasing to provide an endless see of emotion seemingly hellbent on breaking me, mentally, emotionally, physically.
Battered and torn I still stand. These wars rage inward and outward, threatening to shred every fiber of my being. Through it all, even in the face of despair, I feel contentment. Whether it is the folly of placing my faith in the thought of finding that person that can wrap me in their arms and give the warmth and affection I so desperately need, or the notion of love’s existence, or simply my determination to not give up without a fight I may never truly understand. Perhaps a combination of each of those, as well as the myriad of other ideals to which I cling, is what keeps me going. Whatever the case, bloodied, wounded, scarred... I still stand.
Through it all I have found happiness. Not necessarily with the current state of many aspects of my life, but with myself. I have no regrets, though there are many things I am not proud of. I hold no true anger, though there are many things that may irritate or annoy me. I bear no ill will toward those around me, not even those who certainly deserve to be scorned. I even forgive those actions that brought me to the brink of disaster, leading me into a deep, dark spiral into the hell within I never thought existed.
Without the events that have transpired in my life I would certainly not be who I am today, and though I may have enjoyed a lifetime of contentment, possibly even joy, it would have been an existence bereft of understanding and sincere inner peace.
My only hope is that someone is better for having known me. Be it the fleeting moment we shared in line at a coffee shop, or the intimate encounter we lost ourselves in for a night, or the conversation we held on the phone after so many years of lost contact... I know I will rest easy upon leaving this plane with the knowledge that another’s life has been made better by my existence.
In the end, though wounds may heal, the memories and scars we endure will leave their mark on us for the rest of our days. It is because of those things that we are who we become, and it is because of my scars, my memories, my friends and family, my heart and soul, my decisions, my triumphs and failures... because of daring to take another step, that I am me.