Every little failure magnifies itself; every success vanishes as successfully as friends in the deep of the night. The past grows on you, making you feel crushed and wanting, to the point where you would willingly give up your whole future to relive a few untroubled, happy, innocent moments of the past. As if this cruelty wasn’t enough, the heart ponders over each excruciating detail – looking at old pictures, reading old conversations; as if every little memory that stings is a victory stake driven throughout the already glum present. The mind plays its old tricks – forgetting the little problems that existed at that time and remembering the picture rosier than it is. Nevertheless, you know in your heart of hearts that it was the most perfect time you had ever lived. And things could not be worse now. If not for the one ray of hope that lights up the future, it would all be over.
Why is it so difficult to live in the present? Why does the wind always blow in the direction opposite your hair? Why does the mind remember those happy days in times of difficulty and terrible moments in times of happiness? Why does the rain always fall when you’re dressed and ready? Why can’t the heart be content with what it has? Why does the sun over-shine and cause distress instead of happiness? Why does suppression not work when it should?
So many questions. Same old answer. A hidden tear that feels ashamed of itself and can offer no solace.
I love you, Dad. I just don’t know what to do. I don’t. I’m finished and weak. I’m alone, I’m on my own.