When living is hard...

I can safely say that I HATE being an adult...for the most part.

I'm not sure what the hell is happening in my mind that makes living so difficult. That's why I was taken to a psych ward this morning, because life has never taken so much of my strength before as it has these past few years. I've heard multiple times from multiple therapists that depression isn't supposed to last years...but what more could I do? I've stared my trauma in the face and then determined to not become a victim, I went to therapy and did the work, I let people around me know what was happening in my head for accountabilities sake, and I'm still getting harassed by my own thoughts. How do you separate yourself from the things that are causing you anxiety when it's you who's causing it? I scared myself so bad last night to the point where I had to stay on the phone with my sister until I fell asleep just because I didn't know if I'd wake up the next morning. I knew life could do this to a person, but no one told me life could do this to me.

Honestly, adulthood has beaten my ass like I never expected, and it makes me vibrate with anger.

Why?

Because I used to be an imaginative, hopeful flame, but nowadays i'm watching that light get choked out of me, and i'm not sure how to fight back anymore.

Even through all this, I can acknowledge that the light that used to burn so brightly isn't gone just yet.It may only be a flicker at the moment, but It's a flame nonetheless.

My first step to fighting for my life is to admit that I don't want it to end just yet. I might not want to in a couple of hours, but as long as I desire to live, even if it's one day a week, I want to fight for the desire to stay alive.

I want to live because, to me, beauty makes life worth living.

I see so much goodness all around me, even in the midst of so much chaos wrapped in hate and hurt.

I see beauty in the way steam dances atop my favorite cup of tea in a cute mug on an early morning's dawn.

Or even things like finding new candles that smell like the feelings I can't express with words.

New journals spark in me a desire to write whatever my mouth struggles to articulate.

Oh...and my fountain pen...I can make beautiful line art or write songs and poetry that makes my future self appreciate the gift of words I've been told I have.

Beauty sometimes can be hidden in a melody or behind some clouds, or perhaps...the beauty IS the clouds.

I can also find it in the beauty of another person, be it physical or something attached to their character.

Beauty is only hard to find when the lenses through which you see life have turned grey.

I had to ask myself 'Why am I fighting to stay alive?'

Well, because I believe in stories even if they don't have happy endings. I believe that hard doesn't always equal bad. I believe that if I make it out alive, I can inspire someone else to fight to find beauty, to finish the story, and to celebrate with those who celebrate their birthdays not because they're a year older, but because they never thought they'd make it. Because the thought of losing to my own mind makes me feel like I never stood a chance at life. How can that be good? How can that be true? Am I not the one that gets to determine what kind of a fight I put up? As easy as it would be to give up, I have to believe in good. I need to believe in beauty. I must believe in truth.

Hopefully, when my race is over, it'll be because it was time and not because I couldn't take it anymore.

I'm hoping that beauty will always be beautiful to me. That goodness will always bring me hope. and that truth will always bring me home.

And maybe one day I'll fall in love with living again, but until then, I wanna put up one hell of a fight.