Cowardly Lions

I’m fucked up. That statement, in itself, is something people throw around just as carelessly and often as the phrase, I love you. I myself have used those very words to explain to someone just why I was incapable of functioning. Last semester, it was the answer to everything. I was going through major bouts of depression, and demons from my past just kept coming back to haunt me. It literally got to the point where I struggled to get out of bed in the morning, missed several classes, and proceeded to ignore mass calls and texts from concerned parental unit and friends. I even contemplated what exactly was my place in the world. The answer was I just didn’t know. I was broken and empty. I felt like my world just kept crashing down around me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I cried myself to sleep night after night and it had gotten to the point where I was lucky if I slept at all. I only functioned because I knew I had to.

Coffee and the dark became my drugs and the only thing that kept me sane. There were points where I was so stressed, exhausted, and depressed that I would literally break down in tears for hours, even if I was in the middle of a classroom. I disappeared from the outside world and barely spoke to anyone. I went to and from class (on the days that I was able to function enough to sit there, that is), to and from work, trudging up the UVM hill for trauma therapy, and stumbling to the cafeteria for food only when I’d reached the point of weakness and starvation. Even then, I only ate enough to sustain myself and keep the hunger pains at bay. I knew I was driving myself into reckless abandon, and slowly, I was killing myself. Emotionally, I was dead. Mentally, I was close. Physically, well I still walked. Nothing made sense except for the fact that I knew I was numb inside. There was a huge, gaping hole that I couldn’t see, but I knew was there. I just didn’t know if I’d ever be able to make it go away. I was a good girl and listened to my advisor and went to counseling twice a week, but nothing helped. Then, one night, it all changed.

I woke up one morning and decided I was tired of being miserable. Tired of being weak. Tired of giving up. I hated to lose-yet here I was losing track of my whole life. I was letting the demons and the negative influences in my life win. If I continued, I would sink so far into the darkness that I would never pull myself back out. I realized that maybe I was fucked up, but I was only empowering it further by succumbing to the demons and the negative aspects that had haunted me. I was always a fighter, always the victorious. So, why wasn’t I fighting now? I didn’t want to be the girl who haunted the darkness, drove herself into depression, or surrendered her feelings to the bottle every night. I’d lived recklessly in the past, and I didn’t want to do it anymore. I had a bright, promising future at hand. Hell, I’d worked my ass off for it for four years, and here I was on the brink of destruction. Was I really willing to throw it all away because I was too weak to fight this battle? Maybe I wouldn’t win, but I sure as hell could put up a fight. I didn’t sleep for days because I was too focused on trying to find the good in my life and get reacquainted with what I defined as my happiness. That’s when I decided to stop planning and start living.

I fought my way through my darkness and through my demons; because I knew that I had so much to live for. For too long I was weak. I was better than that. If anyone knows about an unstable, hell-driven life, it’s me. Maybe not as hell-driven and terrible as some, but more than a lot of people I know. Sure, looking at me you would have no idea what I’ve been through-you’d think I was a happy, intelligent person who was driven to succeed. That’s because over the years I’d become skilled at hiding the demons and creating a mask for outsiders to see. If I never let anyone in, then perhaps it would weaken their power to hurt me. I’d learned to live with my secrets, though they ate at me everyday. But if you really looked at me, and really saw, you would know. You could see it in my eyes, though it was carefully hidden. Only a select few ever could.

This summer, I thought I’d found a new form of happiness. I was given a second chance at something. For awhile it seemed maybe it was enough, maybe this time, it was worth fighting for. I was wrong. Sunday, on a day that was supposed to be celebrating my brother, came crashing down. All with one simple phrase: I’m fucked up. I just stared. Are you fucking kidding me? Now, after so long, this is going to ruin it? Anger bubbled inside, but I tried to keep it under control. If it was anything I’d learned, it was that sometimes it’s better to keep my temper in check. Otherwise, things would get real ugly real fast. Two and a half hours later, I was back to square one. All the words, all the tears in the world, wouldn’t erase the mark that I’m fucked up had left. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Had I really been so stupid again? I had let that phrase dictate my life for too long, until my mother told me the harsh words that I didn’t want to hear, but knew I had too. You’re only as fucked up as you let yourself be. It woke me up and made me realize, that yes, I was crippling my future and my life because I was enabling this monster to succumb me. I wouldn’t let it be victorious over my life, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand there and watch as it crippled yours as well.

You didn’t like what I had to say, and you may hate me for it, but someone had to tell you. I could never go back to what there was before, because those memories, that connection, had died a long time ago. The loss hurt for a long while at first, but then it faded away. I gave a second chance, but I sure as hell would not falter my ground. I wouldn’t hurt myself like that again. I would not, would not give a third chance. Not if I wanted to keep myself sane. This time, I was first. I was the one who decided to walk away. Never again would I let the words, I’m fucked up dictate my life. Because, in truth, it was a cop-out. It was the answer everyone gave, the shield everyone hid behind, when they were too much of a coward to take a chance on something that could’ve perhaps been one of the best decisions in their life. Life is full of risks, chances, and curveballs. Sometimes things really are cut and dry. It’s not everyday that you’re given second chances, so don’t pass them when they come around. Usually, you have to stop planning and just start living. Without risk, without daring, without courage, you will never have a real life at all.