There she goes
Trailing hopes and dreams in her wake
Virgin blossoms finally allowed to bloom spread their petals
The spring of her youth and happiness
And of course you’re invited. Everyone is invited to the happiest day of her life
The music, the candlelight, the decadent desserts
Gifts piled high
Smiling relatives all around
And of course
I often repeat myself on subjects and we’re back to why wedding photos literally make me want to kill myself. Right now during my hiatus from my blog I’ve moved away from my home of the last 2 years and have been very depressed. And that’s not even starting with culture shock. Think sleeping for 12 hours a day, staying up until 4 because of anxiety, and not being able to leave the house. I’ve also found out that my best friend came home from his mission.
And that he didn’t care enough about me to even respond to my calls or my messages or my letters. And basically I just wasted 2 years of my life being a friend to a barnacle.
And it seems I still can’t. quite let go of this hope that I will still hear from him despite having every evidence that he’s a ….. I am not supposed to use that word I’m thinking of. Any, of the words I’m thinking of. AHEM. Because hope will just not die. And I wish it would because sometimes we need to be disappointed and fail at things in life so we can move on to our next great adventure, right?
So in my wallowing I got to wondering how I got here. And where I want to go next. I also want to answer the question of my happiness. What brings me happiness and peace and what must be done in order to pursue it?
I got to visit my family house of course. And it was very obvious to me that there is a reason weddings and photos and engagements are my worst suicide and self-harm trigger (though I’ve been clean for over 6 months now). It’s because once upon a time there was a little girl with sparkling brown eyes who believed in fairies, unicorns, and fairytales.
Her life was no fairytale. And yet she kept herself going with hope. Hope that someday, her fairytale would come true. Just because bad men raped her and hurt her, didn’t mean that her hope of someday finding her true love was hopeless. She believed in people. She had a faith. A passion for goodness.
You could not find a more worthy young queen. She had a heart of gold and though imperfect she always did what she believed was right.
Chapter after chapter she hoped. Our heroine grew into a stubborn, braveheart of a young woman. As Aeowyn she was a shieldmaiden, fearing no enemy but a cage. And then a new fear grew in the dark lands. Betrayals. The wise had fallen prey to great evil. All she had been told, all her silver dreams, were proven to be false. False teachings of men in white who sought to rule over all.
Friends, family, fell away. Ridiculed. Mocked. Assaulted at every side she was near death.
She had a decision to make.
And our heroine chose to survive. And not only to survive but to fight and to live. To find a new banner to stand for and to protect others. Even if no one stood behind her she was determined that she would not be silenced so easily.
She fought numerous battles. Weathered betrayals at every quarter. Finally she called off her assault, realizing her weakened condition had compromised the success of the battle, and returned to her homeland to find answers. To face the past. And in the past she hoped to find the key to her enemy’s weakness.
And she realized that the source of her hope was false. That no prince was ever going to save her and that the counsel of the wise was as foolish as ever it had been. And she realized that her happiness was founded on foolish hopes and now she had nothing left to believe in.
And our queen had a decision to make now that was very different.
The question was not now whether or not she would live, but how she would live. Would she claim her queenship and assume her rightful place as master of her life or continue to fight for a cause that was not her own? What would she have faith in now that all seemed lost? And who was she? The little girl with sparkling eyes had grown into a woman of fire. A woman of the wild. Untamed. Free.
And now if that woman could shake off the shadows of a wretched past, she could reach out her hand, grasp her crown, and write her own ending to the story.
Her story’s ending hasn’t been written.
I used to write stories every day since I was very very young. But for a long time now I can’t write. I suppose it is because I worry too much about the opinions of others. And because I am afraid to have that part of myself on paper to be seen. To many who read books they feel an intimacy with the author. It’s true that if you look at a book someone writes you can learn much of their mind and almost all of their feelings from a book. Their motivations. Their secret desires. Hidden in gossamer words, a spiders web of trickery and refracted light, their true face is there.
I have largely come to the conclusion that I am afraid to reach my potential because being too… impressive? dazzling? what’s the word. Being too excellent will raise a lot of criticism.
When children sing they sing either not at all or at the top of their lungs. It is because they are not concerned with fine tuning their voice to suit the opinion of a jaded audience. With children the question is simply do I want to sing or do I not. An adult with a beautiful voice cannot be prevailed upon to share their beauty because they are afraid of censure.
What would you do if you knew you could not fail?
What would you do if you could withstand any ridicule or censure?
Amazing, amazing things.
If you don’t believe in fairytales, you don’t believe in yourself either.
“Some people say nothing is impossible but I do nothing every day.” 😉