Mourning the person I could have been.

Yeti Journals

I’ve found myself whipped at the whirlpool of possibilities. I found my inner depth around moments that I thought I was guaranteed to have some things work out for me. It felt like the perfect place to be in – away from realism and mostly engraved in dreams and the future. I made mind notes of the details that would make me cherish my being. I was extremely rooted in the verse of what would happen if things turned out well and equally so, I thought I was prepared enough to deal with the exceptions. 

It wasn’t long before I came to terms with the fact that I manifested my wants to an extent of no recovery. So when I found myself lost within my own paradigm, I had negligible clues on how to get back on my feet. It hurts and I still struggle to keep up with so many things. It is at these moments that my optimism turns into a toxic space that haunts down my piece of mind. I keep myself awake past midnight to a thought of what could have been than what I want to create out of the next day. And as much as I hate feeling this way, I can’t help but feel vulnerable because it’s the deepest core of anything I’ve felt lately. 

It’s 3:00 AM and when my eyes shut tight to try and fix my life, I find myself mourning the person I could have otherwise been. Sometimes I shrug it off at the thought that I never really knew her but on most days I know that there’s nothing I’ve known more than the want to be her. To raise her. To protect her. To see her smiling. And crying. And laughing. And in joy. 

I have now realized that when you’re really close to yourself yet spread apart a million lives, it takes about every millisecond to pick up the pieces and build yourself up. A slight wobble and maybe the chance of preparing yourself well for the day is almost over. So you let yourself restore the clumsiness and hope tomorrow’s a better day – only to come face with the truth that sometimes it can get worse. And then again, you cry a billion tears, get glued to your bed, or go spread that laughter around others but come home to look yourself in the eyes and surrender to the horrible feeling. 

Vulnerability is not just a state of mind. It’s a feeling unlike any other that can tear one up in a manner unlikely to be fixed again. As much as being optimistic during these instances is crucial, it can many times not be the best resort for everybody. Boxing emotions or being told to box up our emotions to give in to the idea that it’s just a phase is, what I believe, our way of being harsh on ourselves. How many more feelings do we have to gulp down our throats to establish that we are not emotional? When in reality, we are. 

Our emotional capabilities and vulnerabilities are amongst many, what makes human civilization stand its ground today. We don’t necessarily have to act up to prove that we are detrimental to one thing that makes us who we are. We need to own up to feeling every emotion sincerely without being told not to. Whatever is the trauma that’s catching us off guard, we need to make ourselves an essential part of the healing. We need to own what we’re feeling without putting ourselves at the centre of the blame. It doesn’t necessarily mean having to confine ourselves, or give up but, the sheer need to encompass our inner feelings to a greater degree without feeling or being made to feel guilty. 

And so, here’s to the trying times. Here’s to the tears that dried up on our cheeks long before they hugged the pillows. Here’s to the sleep we lost and the thoughts that never left our brains. But most importantly, here’s to reconciling and negotiating with the person we are at this moment – vulnerable, faded, fearful, confused, until we can turn the tables around and cherish the person we become some day – with no pressure given/taken.