Rocking back and forth on an uncertain cliff. “Should I give up or continue the good fight?” I preach words of fighting through the darkness and just faking it until you make it, but in the end do I really believe it myself? How easy would it be to just throw my hands in the air and bow out with my dignity still intact? These are things I ask myself everyday.

Recently I was approached by a long lost friend to hear out a gifted individual who helped impact her life in a very positive way. I was a little skeptical but still wanted to give it a chance. I’m feeling broken and lost. Unable to muster up the energy to believe my own lies of happiness. I need a map through this dark hole I’ve found myself in and if this girl can help me I’m willing to give it a shot.

With a little bit of skepticism and a small amount of hope I began to ask my questions, afraid of the answers I’d get in return. The first response threw me for a loop. I was shaken to my core. I knew that things would need to change. I can’t continue on this path. But how? How do I find the light when there is so much darkness around me? I used to be able to pretend enough to actually believe it myself. It got so good at faking it that I was no longer acting, that I was actually happy. This time is different, this feels much worse.

There has been only one time in my life when I felt this low, the day that my Nana passed away. The feeling of hopelessness set it immediately. No words could fix the pain that was radiating through my soul. I wanted to die. I wanted to be with her. When people speak of a “broken heart” it’s a true statement. My heart literally felt broken. I just knew that if the doctors would give me an x-ray that it would prove I had a hole in my heart where my Nana had once been. Well it is the same now. I feel physically weak. I barely sleep, force myself to eat, forgetting things that I should easily remember. I feel lost. Like I’m in a nightmare and I can’t wake up.

As I pry myself out of bed in the mornings I whisper to myself, “you can do this” “you are strong” “you have to make it through just one more day” soon enough that one more day turns into another….and another…..and another. I allow myself ten minutes to cry and let it all out so I can continue on with my day. Thoughts of those sweet angels frequent my brain and I’m filled with intense sadness. I excuse myself to the restroom and allow myself to weep. The work day ends and I return home. I’m angry by this point. Mad at the parents who have children that they neglect. Mad at people who don’t understand my sadness. Mad at people who have the audacity to try to hurt others. I’m just angry. I don’t want to talk, to engage. I feel like I’ve paid my dues for the day.

At the beginning of my journey I set out to find the old me. To “manifest a little mess” which if you haven’t been following my blog, is my nickname since I was a child. I wanted to find the old me that had been absent for quite some time. I found her. Life was good. Really good! But somewhere along the way she vanished again. I was rereading past blogs trying to see what I did different the last time around. Trying to find some sanity through all my madness.

I’m going to rediscover my love for meditation. I remember just drifting off into my own world and returning zen and at peace. Lately the thought of it makes me irate; however, I know I need it. I need to tap back into my spiritual being. I’ve become so cynical and negative in all this. As much as I can’t even fathom the idea now I know I need to get back to the gym. Working out always makes me happy in the long run. It’s me time, but me time that I can’t just sit and cry during. My plan of action is to attempt making time for yoga in the morning before I go to work again. In some type of grand illusion to get me centered and rejuvenated for the chaos at work.

I know life is tough right now. Things are not easy. As much as I want to quit my job, give up on school, distance myself from my friends, become a recluse…… I know that isn’t going to help me through this. I need my work to distract me and keep some sort of normalcy going on. I need my friends to lift me up when my legs give out beneath me. For now I’ll continue to “fake it till I make it” in high hopes of actually making it through all this. Just bare with me. Love me a little louder, hug me a lot tighter, and be patient with me. I’m trying as hard as I can muster.

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