Updated: Aug 4
Let me begin with the cliché, every day is a struggle. As many can relate, it is a literal struggle. A child born in Africa, with no hope but is fuelled by the hope of my parents. I feel like I am constantly running on reserve fuel with borrowed energy. My brain has no resting point.
I feel like I am all alone even though I’m surrounded by family who love and adore me and friends who see me in a positive light. I feel as though I am pulled from every angle of societal pressure. I feel I can’t satisfy myself in regards to my personal, professional and emotional fulfilment’s.
I feel as though I am a failure even though I hold unto accolades and experiences others dream of. I feel as though I am working myself to death, with the grim reaper being my only source of comfort.
I feel I judge myself harshly because even despite my dark thoughts I couldn’t give a f**k about what the world thinks about me. Yeah, I know, that sounds metaphoric. I feel as though I’m defeated by my thoughts time and time again and there’s no one to talk to. I feel as though verbalising how I feel to others is complaining and whining about what others consider as lucky.
I am tired of hearing the phrase ‘Once there’s life, there’s hope. Where is the hope when it has never been seen nor felt? How do I feel hope when there’s always a calamity lurking around the corner waiting for its turn to wreak more havoc after the current storm passes. How do I release the cold clutches of cherophobia whenever I’m happy. How do I begin to feel life even if it is graded as satisfactory as opposed to a distinct pass mark?
This is just another day of feeling negative. Yeah, I’ve heard all the positives about living life, but what is the purpose of life living like a cockroach in a cupboard; coming out to play when it's dark and scrambling to hide when the owners arrive. I feel as though I’ve done all the right thing’s but only been rewarded with the wrong thing’s.
I feel as though I’m tired of living but for my family’s sake I must survive. Maybe it will get better someday but for now, I feel as though I have to stop writing. I have said enough. I feel and know I will be judged. I couldn’t care less, although I do sometimes feel a never-ending wave of pain and sadness.
I have felt and heard the pain of shared crosses shared among my friends, commerades and colleagues. By compiling stories of these crosses shared in this article, I hope you remember to be kind.
Everyone bears an invisible cross.
Thank you for reading.