When April ended, I was determined to not let anything at all stand in the way of me and my recovery. It is now no secret that April was a doozy; it forced me to stand and deal with a lot of things that I had done absolutely everything to avoid (especially the murky areas of my own mind), and while it was necessary, it was also difficult as hell.
Fast forward to now, six days into May, and it feels like I’m…empty. There is nothing concrete left to hold on to, and without an anchor, I feel weightless. Normally, I would have found something to focus on by now, something to at least get me by for until after exams get over, if not any longer. I know my history and my cycles. I know that there are certain same phases that I need to go through every time something major happens.
The first phase is the Fake Acceptance, where I try to talk myself into being optimistic and repeatedly tell myself that this is okay, this is good, this is for the better. On an average, this phase lasts anywhere from a week to a month, depending upon an array of myriad factors involved. This is quickly followed by Rage, where everything is just another reason for me to be mad at things and people, and no matter what anyone tells me, I just cannot calm down. Once the bloodlust subsides and I can stand to talk to people without yelling and/or making snide comments (that aren’t always unwarranted), I move on to the third and final phase, which is Compromise. I try to make peace with the changes, and learn to live with them, after doing an extensive search to identify the silver lining (however faint) in this situation.
These phases are familiar to me; it gives me this twisted sense of relief that at the end of all this, I will be fine. But this time, while I waddled through the first two phases pretty quickly, the last phase is nowhere in sight. Every time I think that I’m finally okay with things being the way they are, something shakes loose, something shifts, and I find myself alone and frustrated (possibly even crying), desperate for a solution.
The thing is, there is no way I can glorify my scars or my insecurities to make them sound like they are the result of heroics or anything that could inspire anyone. My scabs are not wounds won on the battlefield; I have no reason to be proud of them. Some might object, saying that “we acquire strength in what we overcome”. To them I only want to say this: in my 21 and a half years of being alive, I’ve overcome a shit ton of stuff, and what use is the strength if it can’t save me from my own self?
Ever since I’ve had this blog, I usually post when I have a problem, and more often than not, the following post goes up when that problem is solved. This may be the first time ever where I am going to admit that I’m struggling.
There, I said it.
I’m struggling with my own self. And I have talked about this to people, but it has done very little to help me deal with this situation better. The emptiness is not just there; every morning when I wake up, I feel like its expanded a little more inside of me, and soon it will be all that I can feel–nothing. In my mind, I’ve made peace with all that hurts me a thousand times over, but it hasn’t changed anything.
I have accepted that we can’t force people to feel or not feel something.
I have accepted that while getting passed over sucks, it truly is better than being a Plan B.
I have accepted that not all relationships have to last a lifetime, but that does not mean we shouldn’t cherish and respect them while they do.
Every time I say these things to myself, I feel like I’m fine again, which I should be. Right? And I am, until I go to bed, wake up the next morning, and start to feel all the things that I can’t do anymore. I am just tired, I think, and there is only so many distractions that you could fit in a day.
So here I am: sitting alone in my room, already wondering what all I can do tomorrow so that I can regain whatever sense of normalcy I can. Honestly, I am just disappointed; I always believed that all the hurt and the pain and the perseverance would count for something, you know? But, guess not.
Also, while this is sufficiently terrifying and frustrating in equal proportions, I still do think I will be okay. My life is bigger than my fears, which is something I realized a few days ago when I started working on my new novel. It is called The Next Logical Step, and while I still don’t have a confirmed outline yet, it is about Samantha and Troye, two people who have no business even existing in the same universe, and definitely no business falling in love; but they do.
Personally, I’m looking forward to discovering how people can truly rise above a world of differences, and accept each other purely for their hearts. It’s my guilty pleasure you know, creating characters that are brave and never give up without a fight, especially when people in real life always choose to just stop trying so easily.
Here is a part I posted on Instagram from TNLS:
Be back soon.