“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes the courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, “I will try again tomorrow”

Marry Anne Radmacher

That’s always been my way. Even at my worst, I’d just sit and wait patiently for the day to end. Tomorrow is another day, let this day end.

I read this quote today and I broke down. I’ve been trying again and again the following day for almost 2 years now.

I took steps that I’ve never imagined taking. I’ve opened up about things. I’ve faced things and gave up others. I reached to new people, reached out to older ones that passed.

I pour myself into trying to keep everything working when it needed, make everything stop where it needed. I fought, and I compromised and I gave it all my best as I always do.

Even when I felt there’s no way out anymore, I waited for the tomorrow whatever shape it comes in.

But every day it was worse.

Even the smallest actions to get things I once wanted, or make a change that would make me smile in the mirror, like a haircut or a new piercing, somehow, things went terribly wrong then too, in the most unexpected ways.

I got myself the one thing that makes me genuinely laugh, a pet rabbit, however I’m writing now with bite marks and bruises on both hands, wrists, legs and thighs. A reality that I dunno if an operation would help ease and decrease the bad that’s in this situation.

Wherever I look, things changed drastically.

Whichever I tried, I am challenged.

I’m very pained to be honest.

And I don’t like myself for writing this.

I don’t like you, for reading it.

But I’m doing it anyway because a huge part of me just doesn’t care anymore.

maybe in the future, I’d read this and laugh at myself. Cringe at myself.

Maybe it’ll be a story.

I believe in god’s plan.

And I see much in the one thing that didn’t change.
Being able to do what I love with ease.

Being able to create.

Everything else is keeping me, but I, within me, still love nothing else more than this.

It got tarnished, and it’s not the same. The part outside creating suffocates me and the loneliness in the rigid parts of it is very difficult.

But I still have the privilege to sit down, and do what has been my first and ongoing love since I became aware of what one can do in life.

I sometimes feel like I want to let go of all else, and there is a safe way to disappear in this age of the internet.

But honestly, how long and how far can art reach without putting it out there? How much would it take for such a lonesome existence to drive itself to nothingness?

I’ve put in so much to connect, to fix, to help those I care about, to be there for people, mend a little, draw a smile, pat a back,

But it was still not enough.

Nothing I’ve done the past 2 years was enough, and just like it was in 2009, just like it was in 2004… I drain myself for a wish, in vain. I help, I give, I stand silently, I hold back. I speak, I ask, I demand and plead, but nothing can ever be heard, and no step can ever be taken for the better by another, until they are ready.

When I’m not in anymore.

I make a good machine on a shelf.

At least, it was left behind at peace with itself.

Ever producing.

No wishes.

Just the love for a craft.