Shards and Pieces.

“Sometimes, you have to self-destruct in order to self-discover, and understand that the only person you have to let go… is you.”

R.M. Drake

Wow.

Like really, wow.

How many times do we have to hear that before we’ll actually give into it?

If we’re being brutally, magically honest with ourselves, we are unequivocally terrified to examine the fragments of thread holding ourselves together.

I may not be particularly old.

I may not be particularly wise.

But in my short time on this planet, I’ve observed something which seems to govern the entire human condition:

If you desire to live life to the maximum capacity, you must lose it.

And I don’t mean you need to end your life or crumble up all your idiosyncrasies and cast them into the winds.

But you truly must be willing to (and actually, at times) tear off pieces of who you’ve always thought you are and smash them on the ground.

Then, you must purge your mind of these preconceived notions of who you’re “supposed to be” and never look back at the shards.

Because who you think you’re supposed to be and who you are will almost always differ.

And that’s okay.

But I think it’s difficult for us to see this.

Because we’ve drown our own beauty in the well-wishes of others, in the contradictory expectations of those who claim to love us and those who claim to own us.

We’ve allowed their visions for our lives to wash in and {often} overtake our own visions.

While the visions of others may not be inherently bad and may not even be intentionally selfish, they are.

They are given one life, just as you are, just as I am.

And except for rare instances, it is not their job to see for someone else.

Which means, they have no right to cast their wishes for your life onto you, no matter how well intentioned they may be.

I say all this to say: perhaps it is time.

Time to look at those threads holding your dreams together.

To look at the expectations you have for yourself.

The dreams, the fears, the things which make you feel despair, anger, guilt, pride, joy.

And look them in both eyes with unveiled sight, proclaiming what they truthfully are.

Because if they’re your dreams, your guidelines, your messiness, that’s perfectly wonderful.

But if they’re someone else’s restrictions, someone else’s dreams, someone else’s messes you continue to clean, you need to stop.

You need to find your own sight.

Your eyes are your own.

Use them.

When you do, you empower others to do the same.

And you discover that the pieces you are required to lose in this process were never really meant to fit into your skin to begin with. 

Lighting the Dark.

You open your eyes, but all you see is the dark.

The air gradually becomes thicker, as your lungs struggle to expand.

There is soot in the air, coating your skin thicker with each toxic breath.

You begin to grasp at the darkness around you only to find you’re encapsulated.

Walls surround you.

There are no doors.

There are no foot holes.

There are no windows.

There is only deepest dark and loneliest alone.

How did you get here?

You used to see light. 

There were once steps lining this space, allowing you to come and go as you pleased.

Then, the air was clean, fragrant, even.

You had friends.

People who would bring joy to your small area, light lights, open curtains, feast on laughter.

But all of that’s gone.

You begin to cry.

A few tears trickle into giant, ugly sobs.

And the echoes drown out the heartbeat you’ve long ago forgotten is your own.

You sob until you are numb.

Until you no longer see the dark or attempt to climb out of your trap.

You lie down in the puddle of tears you’ve just created. 

When you finally stand up, drained of the last sliver of humanity you had, you think strongly about sitting back down and dying.

It would be a slow death, but it would be a death tens of thousands before you have accepted.

But something inside that darkness is telling you to stand on your tip-toes.

When you do, you push your hand up and touch the top of what’s containing you.

The faintest gleam of hope stirs in you.

Your eyes widen.

You now take both hands and feel the ceiling above.

Before you even have time to think about it, you’re pushing up with some form of strength you didn’t remember you had, throwing away the piece that just held you captive for longer than you care to remember.

And then you see hands.

Hundreds of hands, reaching out to you, to pull you from your pit.

Once you’re out of the ground, you remember how you got there.

You built that pit. 

Even surrounded by all these outstretched hands, you dug yourself a nice little hole, jumped in, and pulled a lid over your hiding spot.

So no one would find you.

--------------------

Friends.

This is what life is like when we do not allow people in.

Before I allowed people into my thoughts, into what I thought were such dark places no one would survive even a small glimpse, I felt a lot like what I described above.

I didn’t remember how I’d gotten to that place, but I knew I hadn’t always been there.

I knew I didn’t want to stay, but I felt like there was no way out.

And that’s how darkness wants us to feel.

Like, sure, we may have had something good before, but now, we’re in the dark, and we had better learn to like it, since there’s no way out.

But I promise you, that’s a lie.

There’s a way out. 

Sharing the precious things on our minds and in our hearts can be difficult.

Feelings of shame, embarrassment, and fear of what another may think often keeps us backed into our own self-made caves, cowering in and clinging to the darkness.

But you know what?

All of us have a few of those caves.

And I wonder what would happen if we got brave and brought a friend to our secret spots?

I think we would be more likely to look at each other and remember that we’re all fighting our own battles, every single day.

And we all just need someone to come in, see our darkness, give us a giant hug, and help us open our curtains.