Hope was the weapon of fools

When talking to a friend about discovering "late" into adulthood, how important it was to be loved, I was reminded of how much I was able to grow over the years. Genuine love can help you blossom into the best version of yourself. It can help you hope. It can help you achieve things you never thought you could (or never thought of). It can help you heal or at least soothe your deepest wounds. It was love who helped me get the best care for my mental health and realize I needed it. It was love that helped me become the person I am today, the love I have for others, and the genuine love others had for me. Not so long ago, I couldn't even assert myself or make decisions because I thought it wasn't my place to do so, and it didn't matter because I didn't matter anyway. I couldn't even pick up where to sit at a restaurant... Today? I'm back to being myself and choosing for myself! I  also watched others transform for the best, once they found love or allowed themselves to love again.  I love it! I love watching someone getting genuinely loved and cared for. 

Don't get me wrong, love is not going to solve issues, and it won't bring back what's been lost and can't be replaced like a loved one, but Love will soothe and help us carry on.  Love isn't a magic solution, and it's not going to solve everything. I still have suicidal ideations, despite all the love and care I have. I still suffer from mild anxiety and clinical depression. I still have other little moments of anger, weakness, and frustration, but my heart is soaring! I feel so much better! I met wonderful friends, and I am able to do things I couldn't dream of doing before. I also realized the difference between fake love and genuine love and how they're worlds apart. I guess you have to learn the hard way, so you can keep the lesson etched in your very soul. 

I noticed yesterday while talking to my friend,  that one of the positive changes that happened within me was about Hope. I grew up with Hope in my heart until I reached adolescence. I used to think that "Hope was the weapon of fools." In my mind, a long time ago, being hopeful was seen as a recipe for disaster due to the constant heartbreak and betrayal. I thought I was wrong to be hopeful, and I would be punished for daring to dream of something better. So I tried not to be and instead remained a "practical and realist" person. 

In truth, I was unable to recognize the self-destructive patterns I had been engaging in. I was unable to realize that those I surrounded myself with did not have my best interests at heart at the start of my adult life. I couldn't see the strength and capability I already possessed within me. I simply killed hope and kept doing it so it wouldn't grow in my heart. This way, if I were disappointed, I would reframe it in my head as a reality check.  It was simply Life unfolding as it was supposed to be. Such a simple trick! 

Then, I grew out of those bad relationships, and I slowly but surely picked myself back up, thanks to the genuine love I received. Little by little, I realized that what I mistook for "reality" were simply the self-realized prophecies and bad company fueling my insecurities, depression, and anxiety. It was a lack of reassurance and security mixed with low self-esteem and other fragilities. It wasn't "Fate" or "Punishment" for being alive. It was none of these things. It wasn't even me. 

How could it be me when I shrank myself to please others? How could it be me when I quieted my voice and ignored my needs and desires because it would be an inconvenience to others? How could it be me when I gave up on myself because I listened to those telling me that I would never amount to anything? Voices telling me they loved me when in truth they wanted to push me to my grave? (That might never be a story I would tell). It took me a long time, a lot of work, and a great deal of support to finally detangle everything and escape the sharp claws of self-destructive patterns I was stuck with. 

Love, genuine and kind love, helped me see that I wasn't valued before. Love from others made me find myself again. It made me accept myself the way I forgot how to. It made me hope again. I dared dream again. I dared assert myself again, and my favourite thing is that I learned that "yes, I could be loved for who I was!" I found myself feeling hopeful again, and this time,  oh, I truly cherish the ability to do so. I no longer feel the same way as I did decades ago. I realized that Hope was resilience and a fuel to do better... to be better. Love brought back Hope. Love helped me get back to myself. And I think that it's one of the testaments of how being genuinely loved could help, and I wish, I really wish that everyone would experience true love, and that I will keep moving in the right direction and be the better version of myself. 

 

Who is she?

I lost a girl who I once knew,
Not really understanding how and why it happened.
I always hear about her, from people who she once knew
But I forgot everything about this girl, I lost her.
Me... I lost myself.

I am the girl of that story, the one everyone knows a piece of.
I am the girl of that story, the one who got lost over the years.
Could it be that growing up made me lose that girl? Could it be?
I highly doubt, because when I look deeper into it, I realize that I don't know.
This girl, I never knew her.

Who is she?

I realized that I never knew her. As far as I can remember, there's nothing about her that stands out.
She was there, she existed, but she always was just a mist, nothing tangible, nothing real.
She was whoever others wanted her to be, she moulded herself after someone else's desire.
This girl wanted to be loved, to be accepted, she felt so inadequate that she tried to erase everything.
But that's the irony of it, there was nothing, to begin with.

Who is she?

I wept a lot for this girl I don't know.
I look at all the things she could have been but never was.
I look at all the hardships she had to overcome, just to make herself a place under the sun.
I look at her tears and her anger, I still feel the shivers she got because she felt empty inside.
I lost this girl. I lost her. And I have tried to find her again.
But I can't. She never was, to begin with, she just can't be.

Who is she?

There is only one way to go from now. It is forward.
I will move forward, reinvent myself in the process and I have been doing just that over the years.
Gliding through life, jumping from one trauma to another, destroying and rebuilding everything.
I did that! I reinvented myself, for every piece of me people took with them was nothing but a facet.
I'm a diamond. That's what I am. I shine too hard, I can't break that easily, I'm the hardest that is.

I am a diamond.

That's who she is. That's who I am. I have many facets, as many as there can be. I am complex.
I have to be worked on, over and over again until finally, I can reveal myself, my true shiny self.
I am a diamond, there's nothing else that I can be. Life knocked me out so many times but look at me.
I'm still here... I'm still here... I exist! I reinvent myself and live another life as my new me.
Yet I still need to know who that girl was and if I have truly lost her. Truth is... I haven't.
I have never lost her. I clawed my way through the dark, cut myself a piece of the sun.
I am still alive and kicking, alive and breathing, alive and trying. I simply am.

I never lost her, but I never took the time to know her. This girl. Me.
Now I have just started to unpack everything and by Gaea, she's a badass!
I'm a badass.

I'm a diamond.

be kind to yourself

Ah! short "essay" this time, but as the conversation happened a little today, I felt fitting to at least say my piece. I have noticed that most of the time it's very difficult for someone to eventually love themselves. I don't know if it's in our DNA or if it's something that comes with the experiences and environment we grow up in. I can't say for sure and if you'd ask me, without thinking I would say it's both.

Society at large frowns upon people who are decently confident in themselves (so we are excluding the cocky types, the self-absorbed people as well.), and even more when they belong to "minority groups" (I hate this word, just like the whole concept of race but it's another topic). They do scold black and brown people who do feel themselves just alright, same with women, same with LGBTQ+ people.same with fat/extremely thin (we're not talking about clinically ill people here. but mostly natural chubby/very thin people because people have another opinion on them. a very harsh opinion and you have to intersect it with gender as well) You simply can't be content with the way you are, there has to be something you don't like or "hate" about yourself to make you feel as they put it "more down to Earth" or "normal like us." Because apparently, loathing oneself or lacking confidence is the mandatory human trait we should have?

BUT Society also does praise people who are very confident in themselves. -this is a weird love/hate relationship here. bordering with idolization and the pervert urge to tear your icons down.-They would put on a pedestal those who exhibit exaggerate traits of self-confidence and would turn them into icons who (through the lens of media, especially entertainment media) would quickly become a goal impossible to achieve. They would turn into this "person" you have to become but who can't exist. Flaws are most often praised, rewarded even in movies and tv shows, the hero has to be a certain way, look a certain way, be a heartthrob, successful, irresistible "perfect" macho./creepy man and the heroine also have to be a superwoman, whose flaws are endearing but only because she's already perfect.

Where does that leave us? You can't be too happy about being your imperfect self because you should strive for more, be the "best of the best version of yourself" but at the same time, if you come close to being like those modern heroes, you will be praised and lifted up and then torn down because icons are always stomped on. (with some exceptions but usually, some people would still manage to spit in the face of the modern heroes) THEREFORE, the only option left is to never be satisfied with who you are at any given time because it's never "enough". you are never "enough." and it ruins a good chunk of your life because you have lost the caring way you used to look at yourself.

And it's even worse when you suffer from some form of MI (mental illness).I am not an expert so, I can't speak for all of these, but definitely, if yours include depression/anxiety/suicidal tendencies then I can speak of that. The lens with which you see yourself is deformed and twisted and it only accentuates everything to the point of being unable to live with yourself.

There's where I say I think it should not be that way. We should be able to learn how to appreciate who we are, the whole package. With our quirks and goodness, with your bad habits and the good ones. We could improve course (there is always room for improvement) but we should learn how to love ourselves EACH step of the way. We should learn how to say "hey, you did great here. you know how to do that" and not feel guilty or cocky or self-absorbed. Hey, you have the right to love yourself. you have the right to have your good days too, you have the right to be content with where you are as well. Just... remember, you need to be kind to yourself.

Be kind to yourself.

You are worth every effort <3

The moon thief

« I am chasing the moon when all I should do is bury myself in the dirt.»

He heard her laments as she was wondering why her life was so empty and disappointing.

He watched as she wept in the dark, her face bathed in the warm light of the moon.

He watched as she gave up and knelt on the floor, imploring the moon's mercy to end it all.

And it broke his heart to see her in this state.

« I did as they said, I dreamed big, but my dreams were delusions, lies I kept telling myself. »

She was on the floor, her body curled into a ball as her arms wrapped around her legs.

She had given up after so many fruitless attempts to fight and keep standing. She had given up.

Her heart broke, and he heard the sound of its shattered pieces turning into dust. He heard her die.

And it broke his heart to see her in this state.

« There's no such thing as dreaming too big. You deserve to want a better life. »

He finally said to her, bracing enough courage to actually step into her life and talk to her.

She shook her head, hearing his words but not understanding them anymore. How could she listen?

He knew the fight would be a tough one because she needed more than words; she needed Hope.

So he decided to give her hope, yes, he would find it for her.

He went and stole the moon, and as he held it in his shaking hands, he realized what he had just done.

He stole the moon to give it to her so she wouldn't have to chase after it; he did it for her.

His love for her moved the moon, who simply complied. She didn't resist, she didn't fight back.

She let him take her to his beloved, now that he had stepped into her life and lived in his truth.

The moon would also help the broken heart see its light and stand back up.

« I brought you the moon so you wouldn't think you couldn't reach out to her. »

He did it, really he did, out of love for the kind, withering soul he wanted to bring back to life.

He did it for her and as he knelt in front of the beautiful woman, the thief handed her the moon

She sat on the floor, her hands shakily and coyly trying to touch the moon as he encouraged her

« I brought you the moon to show you that you don't need her to feel alive and important. »

He told her almost choking on his own words.

« Why did you do that? » She asked, confused and worried as her fingers still had not touched it.

She felt humbled by such a gesture, scared by such a sacrifice and impressed by such devotion.

He, whose existence she never noticed until then, made such a selfless act for her sake, out of love

And the way he looked at her encouraged the broken soul to touch the moon and feel alive again.

Its soft energy fueled her; the warmth and love of the goddess in the sky shone upon her.

And she understood that the moon goddess always listened to her, was aware of her and so was he.

«I cannot thank you enough for what you did. You just gave me the moon, from your own will. »

He smiled at her words and kindly released the Moon Goddess who returned to the sky

« My child, you have always been imbued with my light from the day you were born. »

The moon said in a soft nurturing voice while the thief held the hand of the newborn goddess

« You thought you didn't make an impact in this world, that your light was dead and gone. »

She continued as the newborn goddess looked up to her mother the moon, was she wrong?

« You were wrong. Your light never died. Your light shone upon this young soul who took me to you out of love. Your light reached out to me, your mother so I could remind you what you were made of. It is you and you only who gave him enough strength to move a mountain for you, to make you feel better. Your compassion called him and now here you are, born again by your own means. »

« I touched you, mother. I touched the soft light of yours. You brought me to life. »

She wasn't sure of how to respond to her mother since she felt that she wasn't wrong.

« No, child. Love did. You did. He did.  LOVE gave you the strength to stand back up»

Love did, the love he felt for the new goddess prompted the man to steal the moon

The need to see her alive and happy motivated him to accomplish this deed

The need to see her direct her compassion towards herself was the key to this success.

« What kind of love ? » asked the newborn goddess

« The love you found for yourself. » Answered the moon.

That was what missed all along.