Hope - In A World Blinded By Darkness

 

   “I feel all shadows of the universe multiplied deep inside my skin.” – Virginia Wolfe

   We stopped checking for monsters,

when we realized that knowing they were there-

wouldn't make them go away.

We closed our eyes,

and made pretend,

that there was no point to screaming in vain.

We did it, to slow the pounding of our hearts;

to stop the tears.

We lied to ourselves.

    And said that there was nothing there.

    Hope, is such a heavy word. It is layered in false promises, empty walkways, abandoned streets, and desolate faces. It's a pretense of reality, an expectation waiting to be broken. Yet, it is this same explosion of feeling which keeps us going. Keeps us getting to our feet in the morning, hiding away our pains and fears. It keeps us from giving up despite the unconquerable odds of this world.

    Recently, I was told of the suicide of someone I had met quite a long time ago. To be honest, I don't even remember his face. I don't remember who he was, or where he wanted to go with life. He was the same age as me, and in the same class as I for a short time. The concept that a person I've physically met, is now no more than a memory, is like an abrupt slap to my face.

   I was listening to one of my top favorite bands, the Twenty One Pilots, when a particular phrase really stuck out to me.

"The only difference between life and dying
Is one is trying"

   The boy I met so long ago, lost what was most important to him. He lost the ability to believe that things would ever get better. He stopped trying, because he no longer held onto the ability to hope in a future where he could be happy. 

   I don't understand why some people seem to be able to handle living as easily as one might breathe. Because for the rest of us, it's not that easy. We learn to build our lives at the bottom of a deep hole, constantly living in a perpetual darkness. It is here, that we subconsciously understand that without hope, we will falter, and crumble into the ashen dust that rains upon us. It's not a cake walk, trying to find the will to face another day, another struggle. Neither is it a responsibility to be taken lightly.

   

Frodo Baggins: I can't do this Sam.
Sam Gamgee: I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.
Frodo: What are we holding on to Sam?
Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for.

   This quote is what's held me up for so long, through howling wind and pouring rain. It has become one of the echos of my soul, the rope to hold onto when nothing else seems to be standing still. It is the idea that there is something worth fighting for. That there is hope in a world overburdened with blinding darkness.
   I wish I could have spoken to that boy from so long ago. I wish I could have held his hand and given him one last chance. I wish I could have been the eyes that held his gaze, and the heart which heard his tears.
   Yet, I was not.
   I was only the empty ears which heard his death.
   and it is that, understanding a pain so heavy and consuming,
   a pain which he must have felt alone in holding,
   that breaks my heart.
   It breaks my heart because it could have been me,
   but it was him.
   and I'm still trying.

Unknown

Insecurities

Recently, it seems I have been slowly sinking into an inert bubble within the rather effervescent muck pool known as the Lyndsey world. Not only is this perilous state of being extremely unproductive and brainless, but also comes across in a highly offensive manner to the human world. How do I explain it adequately, without coming across as sort of weird freak of nature?...

   I'm sorry dean, you're right. There is no other way I could go about this.

During the period I like to define as 'sludge mode', the daily activities humanity seems to perform rather effortlessly, become more like monumental sacrifices of my precious energy.
   Here is an excerpt from my internal dialogue this morning: "-Honestly though, why move when I can just sleep? Who needs food anyway... and school... It's not like my brain's improving from all this work anyway...I'll just lay here for a few more minutes...or maybe hours. I love sleep so much. I love sleep..."
   My situation is beginning to frighten me. It's as though my brain shuts off during these sludge mode periods and short circuits my rational decision capabilities. The excerpt from above isn't even the start of this consuming hole of disrepair! My social cords physically just shred themselves in front of me. Not only is my desire to engage in meaningful human interaction pretty much non-existent, but I find I'm hauling myself away deep into my subconsciousness, and actually dreading the imminent future possibility of having to interact with an actual life form. Remember when I mentioned earlier my rather offensive manner of handling the human world during this stage?... Well, it's actually the reverse. I just don't.
   This is pretty much me when thinking about all of the texts, emails, comments, phone calls, and social obligations I will inevitably have to fulfill in a reasonable amount of time:

This condition, is rather pathetic; and I will willingly admit this. Possibly it's the result of the teenage curse of hormones; possibly the side effects of being an introvert; or maybe it's just me. All I really know is that the people who brush my rather lengthy departures from the living world off without question, are honestly the most patient people on the planet.
   To get to the point, I have been trying to dissect the specific reason for my hermit style vacations. Is it a reaction to emotional, or physical strain? Do I just shut down when trying to deal with a certain problem? Is this just my body's way of reacting to unfamiliar difficulties?
   I'm not sure if this is just coincidence, but during these phases I seem to undergo both a great personal development and brutal self criticism cycle. Recently, my current object of self worth destruction has just been a constant dejected cry of, "I'm just not smart enough for college! How am I going to make it, I can't even figure out how to consistently find the sigma notation with square roots and fractions, without begging my brother to explain it at length to me."- and don't even get me started on chemistry!
   It's really hard to accept the fact that no matter how hard I try, my best is never going to be as good as someone's piece of cake, (metaphorically speaking of course).
   I guess what this all winds down to, is are these sludge modes really just my subconscious trying to come to terms with the question, "is it really worth it? Is it really worth trying your hardest when in the end you get the same results you'd have gotten without trying?"
   It just crushes me. It really does. I'm not like everyone else who seems to be good at fifty things, and doesn't have any problems with life at all. I'm not talented in the same ways, and in essence, I'm not even talented in as many ways. Though everyone tries to break out of that, 'plain old Jane mold', I fear that because of my limited capacity to handle the harder things in life, that it will leave me staring up towards a great mansion of achievements I will never attain. I'm not Brandon Sanderson, as much as that thought pierces my heart to the very core. I have a lot of room to grow in my writing, education, skills, talents, and the million other things everyone seems to have dangling off one hand.
   After all of this, I suppose that I fear my own imperfection. Not being worth it. Of trying, and then failing. As I think about it, my own doubts have taken root as my enemy within my very mind.
   Undoubtedly, this phase will pass just as they always do. I will come to grips my fears, and it will vanish until being called upon again. It's interesting to realize that everyone handles doubts differently, and though my way of handling things might not be the most desirable way, it seems to eventually come to a conclusion. The most important part really, is holding on to what you know about yourself, and not letting the trials you undergo become who you are. Everyone is allowed to have doubts, it is only when those doubts become your identity that you know you have to start a battle with yourself. You need to fight for the person you know is hiding beneath your insecurities. The person you want to become.