All I’ve been craving lately is a sense of security. I want to feel safe in another’s arms, yes, but more so I crave safety in my own mind. So many days I feel fine. Then there are those where I can’t believe the voice in my head is mine. I know that death is no longer something that I dream of, but I can’t help but wonder how much easier death must be. On me. The pain I would do unto others would be irreparable.
There’s a reason so many people cling to an idea of heaven. In a life full of hardships there’s comfort in the promise of something better after this. I personally struggle to believe in something that I can’t prove or see. Religion has never sat well with me. There’s too many holes in the story. To much room for corruption and greed. I am happy for those that find solace in their beliefs and family in the adjoining church seats. It’s just not what works for me.
I have come to accept that life is what it is and our only purpose here is to create purpose. I have to remind myself that life is only pointless and dull if I decide for it to be. Life, in reality, is whatever I make of it. Depression hits hard some days and doing anything, let alone creating a purpose, appears impossible. Those days are also just a part of my experience and I decide how I handle it.
Those days that depression wins and I wake up so late that not even the sun gets the chance to warm my skin, I can choose to learn from it. Even those days are a beautiful part of my experience. I can choose to forgive and accept myself for who I was that day and what situation I found myself in. On the days that I have the strength to get up and fight the war, I will remember that courage. I will use those remnants as reminders that I am not worthless and that there is always another day.
No matter what kind of day it is or what mistakes I make within in it. I will still accept myself as enough. I am a human being, worthy of love and understanding. Worthy of experience and emotion.
Worthy of safety.
Worthy of life.