Catastrophe: any misfortune, mishap or failure; fiasco; the point at which the circumstances overcome the central motive.
I am officially declaring this moment a catastrophe. I don’t have any fight left in me, I don’t think. I don’t have the patience to wait and see what happens. I don’t have the thought process to figure it out. I don’t have the knowledge to make the changes necessary for redemption. I don’t have the faith to overcome. I don’t have the strength to fight. And I don’t have the guts to face reality.
I am but a soul, lost, confused, and frightened. I don’t understand how I got here. I don’t know how to get back. It feels as if my hands are tied firmly behind my back, my mouth held shut and my thoughts stifled, helpless. Where do I go from here? Why do I feel this way? How do I rise above? This is my fault. Why did I let this happen? How can I fulfill my duties as a mother and a wife if I can’t make myself happy? Every question in my mind is more weight on my shoulders, every wrinkle a sign of worry. The stress that consumes me, like a thief it robs me of my happiness, my reasons for being. The sadness conquers every time. Where is my strength? Why can’t I fight? When will I be revived?
This feeling isn’t new. I remember. How could I forget? The silence lasted for years, the pain shadowed by youth and ignorance. I can’t be alone. I mustn’t be the only one who feels this way. I’m not strong. I was never strong, only clever. I’m not a survivor. I’m not a saint. My heart is as big as yours but my mind is not my own. Am I not a good person? Am I not deserving of love, peace and happiness? Am I really selfish and unworthy? Do I want too much? Is this reality my destiny? Is this who I was meant to be?
It doesn’t take much to figure out what is going on here. I firmly believe in wearing your heart on your sleeve, airing your emotions as opposed to bottling them and forgiving yourself on a regular basis.
This morning I seriously wanted to just give up. I was through trying to figure it out. Bad things don’t come in three’s. They are ever flowing from the pits of hell. I may not be perfect. I may be tattered and bruised. Every moment certainly isn’t my best. And I don’t have all the answers. But I know that I am not alone and that I have the power to make a difference in my life as well as the lives around me. I may be bordering on needing a miracle but I’m not dead yet, in any sense of the word. I don’t give up. It’s not who I am. I will find the fight within me. After all, I know where I came from.
I will relive my darkest days over and over until I find the string that holds me together. I may be fighting for the rest of my life, but it will be a life worth living. I never lost myself. I’m simply still in the process of figuring it out. These feelings will not just go away. I cannot mask them with false appearance. I’m not waiting for anything and I certainly don’t want to know when anything ends. I love that I am alive. As I weed through the negative thoughts, eventually, I’ll figure it out. Or at least I’ll figure out enough of it to get through the catastrophe’s that undoubtedly will occur. I’m smarter than I think I am. I’m sure of it. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and I’m determined to find out where it’s coming from. Life doesn’t scare me.
Life is a dance and I’m slowly learning the steps. It’s a tough journey. If I don’t hear the music soon, I’ll make my own. This is my journey. This is my life. I decide.
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