I'm fairly honest these days. A good many of my friends know that I used to shoot up. A few more know that I am and was bulimic. They know I have problems with addiction, and through all this, they love me anyway. It's a bit paralyzing, sometimes, to be honest, to be real, with people, with myself. It's a bit terrifying. Sometimes I get overwhelmed by it all, and try to turn back, go back to the days when I was alone and untouchable, when my reservations kept me untouched by other people's concern or regard, and when I felt the lowest and most depressed in my life. Sometimes I try to mimic those times, because back then, no one really knew me and all the dark, horrid things in my head. They didn't know, they didn't care, and this allowed me to pretend I didn't, either.
Now, it's different. I am made aware every day that there are people in this world who care about me, who love me, despite my flaws. There are people who want to be around me, even when I cannot stand myself. There are people who would gladly envelope me in their arms to ward off the cruelty of my own thoughts.
It's daunting, to realize that I matter. That I always did, that you do, too. It's a scary fucking thought, to realize that one has a real, physical effect and impact on this earth and its inhabitants. Sometimes we don't want to matter, because that makes it easier to not give a shit, to not take care. Sometimes, we only want to vanish from sight, to be left alone, because we think that will make it easier on everyone else when we're gone.
Sometimes I feel conceited and stupid for feeling these ways. Like I matter, like anyone really gives a shit. Sometimes that cruel little voice speaks up, offering her wicked, vile tongue as a last resort to feeling. Feeling hurts; it means there's a beating heart within this chest, that there's a soul spinning wildly within the confines of my consciousness. It means that there is a reason for all this suffering, this madness.
It's daunting.
But I have made the decision, it seems, to bite the bullet. To admit it. I matter. Yes. I do. It hurts, yes. I fuck up, yes, this is bound to happen. I'm human. We all are. We all have the same possibilities, opportunities. Some of us let them pass us by. We're too frightened to reach for the light, to strive for something greater.
But I'm tired of pretending that all I am is fucked up. I am so much more than my mistakes, my missed opportunities. So are you, damnit, and please stop denying yourself this little nugget of hope. Faith is a big thing. It can make or break us. Just, please, hold on to that little nugget.
Sometimes, it's all we've got.
