This was written a while ago, pre-pandemic; my perspective has changed some, yet I still write of the damaged and broken and now I wonder how much worse some people are.
Until a few years ago, I was a motivated and positive person. Even as life continued to beat my ass to the ground, I genuinely believed no matter the situation, that dedication, perseverance and hard work would yield some type of positive result. I have come to understand that there is no greater cruelty than hope and no bigger lie than to believe.
Reality is often times an evil taskmaster. It can sting with a vengeance greater than the God of the old testament. It can be more relentless than any dog with the meatiest bone. We are told to keep hanging on, things will get better.
The fact of the matter is that life can suck. For so many there is no joy, there is no elation, there is no happiness. The treadmill to nowhere keeps moving and there is no choice but to keep pace until the effort causes the body to become frail, the mind to falter, and the soul to flail.
Those who are damaged mistakenly become labeled as mentally ill, when in fact, they are mentally injured. The assaults are repetitive and the damage becomes chronic. Some survive and become stronger. Sadly, the reality is that others do not, and no matter how strong they are, they can and do break.
So far, I survive. In some ways I am a bit stronger, and in other ways a bit weaker. I live more in the past than in the present, because the past is the only place I find any remnant of happiness.
I am not as positive as I once was.
I do miss that person.
I am unsure if he will ever resurface.
However, that uncertainty doesn’t stop me. I keep moving, I’m just not sure if I am moving forward. Most days, I don’t think I am, but for now, I am at least keeping pace with that fucking treadmill. The lack of optimism and just keeping pace has changed the tone and purpose of my writing.
I write to show the reality of life’s injurious lessons.
I write to spark conversation.
I write to open eyes.
I write The Damaged and Broken Collection for those who are damaged and for those who have broken. I write to give voice to those who suffer and for those to whom the harsh reality is that life is not the bowl of sunshine covered cherries depicted on social media. I write for them because I understand that for every one person who overcomes their demons, there are hundreds, if not thousands, who do not. It is to those that life breaks I dedicate my stories.