Clutching my notebook in frail bony hands, I turn the corner and start to make my way back home. The street is narrow, dark and windy, and as I try to catch sight of the almost non existent end of it, I realize that it’s a cliche kind of place for a young girl to be walking alone at night. The cold air that normally does wonders for clearing my head seems to be conspiring with the eerie shadows of the trees that tower over me and send my brain spinning into too many directions to count.
Tonight I experienced the kind of overwhelming acceptance from other people that makes you think maybe you are something more than you really are. For a few beautiful moments I was able to believe that a piece of writing, something seemingly miniscule, composed with my own two hands could have enough power to move hearts. Countless pairs of hands attached to bodies who have their own dreams clapped to commemorate mine and the feeling was so powerful that all feelings beyond it have started to feel like nothing at all.
Just one drop of success on my tongue has tasted so sweet that it’s sent me spiralling deep, somewhere confusing and unfamiliar. My five minutes of fame were only but five seconds as it may seem, because now all I can feel is the cold bitting at my knuckles and turning them white as snow. My bed of roses only bloomed for a moment before it was just a bed of thorns. They slashed my skin and reopened the scars I’ve tried so hard to forget were there in the first place. I guess a quick moment of success can’t replace every failure.
I’d like to blame someone- anyone else for my countless downfalls. To be able to say someone has raised my hopes up high only to knock them down one by one like dominoes. But I’m the one who constantly tells myself about hope. And I wish that I was the kind of person who can bounce back easily from disappointments, but my body cannot be easily repaired and my heart reciprocates. I’ve always thought that giving the false promise of hope was a good diagnosis for my condition but I’ve come to realize that its not. The second something else comes crashing down, it tears another heartstring that cannot be stitched back together with thread.
As I come to the end of the road, I find myself under a street light. After being stuck in the darkness for so long I find it refreshing to be able to see the road and my feet and my breath in the chilly air. I can see a turn up ahead and I smile upon realizing that home is just around the corner. The accomplishment holds an important part of my heart but I refuse to let myself think that everything will be this wonderful. I can’t think that everything i do will be remarkable. And I can’t ever think that I am anything more than a person. Someone with dreams and with reality and with the hope that their dreams will become a reality. I want to feel the intense feeling of admiration again, but I need to be okay with the feeling of self acceptance first.