To Move On

Oh the many stories that revolve around personal healing meet the number of people around the world who have needed them to be said at some point in their lives. There are those that have been told so many times that the details have been warped. Surely, a great number was shared only once or twice and only to the "victim"'s (I use that word lightly) confidant of confidants. The lot of them have probably fallen on deaf ears. And maybe some were never even told because its owners probably took no notice of the subtle coming of his/her healing.

The point is we all have these success stories of moving on and getting stronger and putting our lives back on track. (Yes, I'm talking to you Justine Balsicas.) Some have carried burdens not many can bear. They have come out of the greatest of tragedies, anew. Those are the ones fit for the books. And I salute them.

But I want to draw focus on the ones whose stories, because of its menial problems, posed no comparison to those harsh realities some people have had to face. I suppose failing test scores,break-up's and broken friendships are nothing when set against, to name a few, finding out you have cancer, having your parents murdered, being scammed out of your life's savings, or growing up being dirt poor that you had to look through garbage cans for food. But it doesn't make their stories,many of our stories, any less worth telling. Because there was a time that these little things brought the same amount hurt that the one who has faced unspeakable heartache felt. Just because your problem isn't as big as the world's, doesn't mean it doesn't matter.

I had one such experience. It was a trivial thing when put in contrast with the horrors other people have had. But there was a time it choked me out of my senses. All the ranting and the crying and moping around was, in retrospect, probably overdone. It got so bad I felt like the world was crumbling before me. Although the feeling didn't stay as drastically apocalyptic for too long, the ranting, crying, and moping ran longer than it should have. The many faces of feigned strength and the untruthful "I'm okay"'s stuck way longer than I had hoped. But right now, truthfully and undoubtedly, I am okay.

Moving on is a funny thing. When I come upon something that would have sent me swirling into a pit of depression just a few weeks ago, I find myself unfazed instead. I sit there and wait for a tight twinge in my heart or the sudden pull of a frown. To my surprise, it does not come. The previously familiar sinking feeling in my gut is now filed away for another rainy day.

This is my story. It may not be worth telling the world, but it is worth reassuring the ones who have waited for my recovery. My story is irrelevant in the eyes of those great survivors of tragedy, but in mine, it is one of greatest feats of personal triumph. And I'm glad to have it that way. Because if dealing with something considered utterly irrelevant amidst world hunger and global warming was bad for the crumbly nature of my personality, anything more difficult will prove to create permanent psychological damage. And I'm already running low on sanity! So we can't have that.

Cheers!

-jejecola-

Bark With No Bite

There is a version of myself that I'd like to become. The only problem is, she exists only in my fantasies. She is confident and level - headed. She commands authority just by walking and she always makes the right calls. She's spiritual, smart, successful, (and sexy.) And most of all, she loves a challenge.

Then there's me. The real, boring, introverted, cowardly shell of a dreamer. I chanced upon an opportunity to do what I do everyday-- talk, only it was in front of a lot of people. And for a while I was pumping with excitement. Already, I was getting ahead of myself, the way I always do. My mind created this brand new world starring me, whose undiscovered potential suddenly decided wake up one morning and kick ass.

It lasted about an hour.

When the adrenaline died and I returned from the gush of utter happiness, reality kicked in. Self- doubt took over. Cowardice grabbed the wheel. And fear was calling the shots. Like an unsuspecting target shot at point blank range, it hit me. There is no undiscovered potential. There is no other version of myself just waiting for a chance to come out. There is only me. There is only a girl who can talk about her dreams, but cannot chase them.

When push came to shove, I backed down. And I don't understand why. I regret it a bit, but the regret won't kill me. Nothing will change. I will, as I have always done, merely exist. To live, and then to die, without ever leaving a mark. I can talk the talk, but my walk is the walk of shame. When the going gets tough, this toughie's a complete softy. My dreams will never materialize not because I don't possess the ability to make them happen (Not that I would know because I've always played it safe) but for the sheer lack of trying. My fear of failure and my insecurities grip me too tightly that I can't picture overcoming them. I will always be too scared to take the risk.

And I'm sick of it.

But here we are again. Tough talk is all it is. And that's all there will ever be.

-jessaminecola-