There has always been (and still is) this part of me who is prideful and wants to appear strong no matter what; this part of me who wears a straight face, who will never break down in front of anyone, who avoids tender hugs even though all I wish for deep down is the comfort of a warm pair of arms wrapped around me. To show affection, to show too great of an emotion, to show vulnerability… it’s a sign of weakness, isn’t it?
But no. To be genuinely yourself, to be able to peel off that goddamn mask and let others see the chinks in your armour, to show people that you’re not actually made of solid rock… if anything, that takes a lot of guts and a lot of strength.
Being strong and acting strong are not the same things, and I’ve spent so long acting strong that I’ve forgotten how to be strong for real.
I always thought that maintaining this strong facade meant that I was holding my ground, but maybe all this time, I was really just running away. I tell myself that it’s okay not to be okay, that it’s okay to have these moments of weakness, but I still find it so very tempting to simply deny the darkness. All I want to do is sail across sunlight-speckled waters and bask in the ocean breeze, and this darkness will only drag me down like an anchor. I don’t want to face a darkness that will drown me and uncloak me and reveal me to be flawed human I am.
We want to be brand-new, not peppered with patches and stitches like an old, ragged doll. But we forget that the scars we bear are reminders of what we’ve conquered. These scars remind us that we can mend our broken selves. That even if we do get dragged down by darkness, we can drag ourselves back up. We think that our flaws are what makes us weak, but weakness is what teaches us to be stronger next time.
Into the Forgotten 