Without faith

It is late, and snow is falling. It is very light, and it won’t stick anyway, but neighbors have bought their emergency milk and bread regardless. It’s not like the north where we were buried in snowfall, and I still had to walk to school. I remember the real cold, the brisk and bitter wind, the icicles hanging from the sad-looking houses. I miss winter. I miss the fall there. But I do not miss that town.

 

I’ve written about many people in my life, and some I’ve written about many times. I’ve written lives over, dreams over, nightmares over. I’ve rewritten songs to beats I could not keep and have cried over a thousand one too many melodies. Too many lyrics. Too many words. Too many thoughts. Millions. Millennia, all swimming in me, as if this moment will never matter, but it still hurts.

 

There are shadows I grasp at. There are apparitions too heavy to hold. I am a bearer of many observations, and I see things other people have not, cannot, and will never see. I hear radio interference, hissing voices bullying the airwaves. I pick up on pain you never knew you had.

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How do you break the cycle?

Many mental illnesses, like many other chronic illnesses, are often cyclical. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, this means that at times the illness softens or even goes into a state of “remission,” in which the illness is not as prominent, invasive, difficult, and/or et cetera. This is especially true with mood disorders, such as depression or bipolar disorder. I think a full “remission” is rare, but I’ve known people who have reportedly (or rather, self-reportedly) gone for years without symptoms who end up hospitalized after an episode returns. Still, many illnesses are cyclicallike fibromyalgia for example.

The uni-cycle from hell

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For the Qs: Why? Why me? Why this?

Pain at its roots is neither test nor punishment. It is trial we are guaranteed simply by existing. Nothing greater than ourselves doles it out. Nothing greater than ourselves cares if we overcome it–so we must care ourselves if we do.

It varies by degrees and duration. It’s a war sometimes; an onslaught. Sometimes it’s an inconvenience. Sometimes it’s something in between and it exists for no other reason than “we exist.” We live. It is not the price of living, as pain in itself bears its own independent value. It just “is.” It exists with us. It offers opportunity, change, growth, and new perspectives. That alone makes us better than our suicidal thinking and our suicidal urges. Because there’s always a part of our pain that challenges us to make ourselves better. We just have to find it.

The puzzle is not pain. We may always be in pain while we live, discrete pain or concrete or conspicuous or not. The puzzle is the reaction. The puzzle is the loss and gain and how the pain is handled. Stop asking yourself, “Why?” and “Why me?” and “Why this?” There is no good reason except that it is proof we are alive. Don’t think too much on it–for, really, what better reason would there be than that?

Questions that are important to ask, questions with more productive and concrete answers, are as follows:

1. What can my pain teach me?

2. How can I make peace with my pain? and

3. How can my pain help me grow?

This is how healing begins.

Love always,

V.