Sharing my thoughts with you and learning from you has helped me reinforce my beliefs that we can grow through adversity and that we can all have a positive impact on the lives of others.
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Whatever our circumstances, we are always accompanied by both our stronger selves and our weaker selves. Only we decide which one defines us. Only one will allow us to find inner peace.
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I’m learning to accept and be grateful for what is while patiently striving for what can be.
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We may not be not living our dreams. But with acceptance, we can live a better life.
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I am not the man I was. But I’ve wished that I could be he, what a waste of precious energy. Expecting positive mental change while spellbound by previous possibilities is insanity. We can’t find fulfilment if we’re fixated on past realities and fragments of our former selves. We can’t build a better future if we’re living a life of irrelevant philosophies.
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Just because we can’t feel hope, it doesn’t mean that a situation is hopeless.
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I’ve lost all sight. The only perceptible sound I can hear is a womb-like whooshing of blood that seems to drown my eardrums. My body collapses into a strange, twisted foetal position and I lose all awareness of the outside world.
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I’ve been motionless for the majority of my days for five months now. Ironic, isn’t it, this was supposed to be the month I began to fund-raise for charity to help others, but here I am, in need of help more than ever before. But I’ve an illness without a cure, so I must become my own saviour.
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The urge to let go of everything and fade into the abyss is virtually overwhelming. I feel it within every single moment. I feel it pulsing within my brain in rhythm to the pain that beats through my bones. Faith’s been dragged so far that it’s now tattered, torn, left hanging, trailing by a few resilient threads…
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I’m aware of how hard this illness can hit, but worrying about my health deteriorating will only make the situation worse. I’ve learned to shut out my deepest fears, but, right now, something doesn’t feel right. I have to listen. I can feel my soul shrinking in anticipation of what I’m about to write.
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I need to learn to forgive myself, treat myself with the kindness and compassion that I’d give to others, but often fail to do so for myself. I need to forgive myself, not to sculpt excuses, not to surrender, but to give myself more strength to fight adversity.
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As illogical as it seems, intuition tells me this is what I need. A purpose powerful enough to distract me from my suffering and ease the darkness within my mind. I can’t think of a more beautiful double-barrelled solution — helping others while helping myself.
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Even within our darkest hours, we still retain choice, the choice to fight from within. I can’t conjure a cure, but I can create a stronger mind. This illness will be my catalyst, my tool for positive transformation, it has to be, if not, then I’ve suffered for nothing. If I stop fighting my soul will wither while I wonder if I should have, could have.
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I’m losing hope. I’m losing my way, my purpose, my pride, my power. Addictions eating away at my liver, despairs seeping into my skull. I’m fighting to keep faith close, believe one day I’ll overcome this challenge.
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After two-thousand days of living with a malfunctioning system and a swollen brain, desperation finally overpowered my will to survive and pulled me towards the easiest way out. My foot hit the accelerator with full force, my hands turned the steering wheel, and there I was, alone, in the cold emptiness of a dark winters night on a direct course to my own death.
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Depression’s darkened my days. Death infects my thoughts daily. I’m in a fragile state. The bleakness, the blackness, I feel it running through my veins, I feel it trickling through my brain. My mind’s magnetised to write in malignant ink. My soul’s never felt so empty.
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A cold, quivering finger slips down my throat. A solitary tear tracks down my cheek. I’m on my knees, in a wood, in near darkness. I hope no-one’s around to witness what’s about to happen.
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I’ve been closer to the edge than I’d like to admit. Before my illness, no-one would have expected it could have been me.
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