Thoughts

         So, the year is half way over. I do not feel any different about my own progress or projects I am trying to complete. In a way, I am filled with an undertone of sadness. Sure, with each obstacle I overcome, there is another. Such is life. Sometimes, I become discouraged. Like, what is the point? Why keep swimming upstream against the current?

         With each step I take, the looming valley of the shadows of death draws nearer. It is inevitable. Peace of mind seems so close yet so far. With each picture, each line, I read, I remember. I recall the terrible heartaches that consumed my soul.

         Was there nothing more I could have done? Or, you cannot save those who does not want to save themselves? I find myself question if anything was true at all. Could it be all an elaborate lie? If so, why did it feel so real? Should I shed drops of tear? Or, should I bury them in the cold abyss of fear?

         All the records. All the memories. They show a contradicting story. A story that few understood. And those who understood could only give me their condolences. Digging through the archives made me feel ill. It was like opening an old wound that refused to heal.

         It might have been easier to walk away. But, what would that leave me? Would I rather live with the "what ifs" or tell the tales of "what happened"? Sometimes, I blame myself. I wondered if I was the monster in the painting. A moment of clarity would hit me and I realize there was someone crying for help through those drawings.

         Did I err in thinking I could change the hand of fate? Or, was I too foolish and thought I could overcome those challenges with sheer will? Is it possible to influence others to use their agencies for good? Is it delusional to think healing was possible at all?

         Within my own personal mental maelstrom, a sign. It tells me that this, too, shall pass. But, to pass, is only surviving. There are those who still need me. I cannot go where I could find rest. At least, not yet.

         In time, there may be a miracle. In time, other doors may open. But today, I am a prisoner of my own making. A room with multiple doors, each with latches facing toward me. With each choice, an affliction. With each affliction, there will be pain. And pain, is something I loathe so much.

         They say life is a journey. They never said it would be a pleasant one. Somehow, we learn the meaning of joy through mortality. Sometimes, I question if I will find my answer. I have found too much sadness. Too much pain. Too much confusion. Am I crazy to think everyone else have it so perfect? So glamorous? So harmonious?

         I carry on because I would like to ask Him why at the judgement bar, after all I could do. I carry on because there are still those who need me in this life. I hope I will not repeat the same mistake. If I do, I hope I get to sleep one more time and dream.

         As I look back to the sign, I am unsure whether hope was forming, or fading. I suppose time will tell.