It’s not that deep, take heart
For years I have carried a heavy depression that seems to choke every spark of hope. Lately, I have felt extremely blue, almost numb to the world around me. And yet, in the middle of this relentless void, there’s a single, trembling thread of light: her. She is my fragile beacon, the only reason I have clung on to a semblance of life. Even if it’s just to have a decent experience with and for her, I keep fighting against the current of despair.
I have always struggled with a scarcity of good in my life, like a persistent force stripping away every bit of warmth I find. Since losing the ones I loved, the screams have faded into a barren silence, here all things scream silently. I barely remember what genuine affection felt like, and now, when it does surface, it’s a reminder of everything I fear to lose. Despite the unbearable weight, I have pleaded with the universe, with God, with existence itself: let me give back something of the love I have so desperately craved.
I have tried to be a hero in a world that only deepens my wounds. I wanted to be more than a victim of circumstance, a being capable of choosing the good even when evil was the likely option. Yet, every day, I watch as people, with their cruelty and indifference, dismantle my hope piece by piece. I observe cycles of pain and betrayal, each one a brutal reminder that even the most authentic love can be compromised by a world that is too often unkind.
In the middle of this internal war, I find solace in something almost transcendent. I believe that the entirety of existence is a love story: a love story between me and the divine, a love story between us and every soul that crosses our path. I have clung to scriptures like 1 Corinthians 13 not as a promise of an easy life, but as a reminder that even when faith, hope, and love seem to fade, love remains. It is the one constant that whispers of a reality where every hurt, every tear, might someday be redeemed.
There have been moments when I have given in to the pain. The temptations born from a need to feel something, anything, when everything else numbs out. But I have fought back, even if only by distancing myself from the instruments of my self-destruction. I have to keep going, if only to prove to myself that I can find a way to live, to love, to hurt less.
Every day, I carry the weight of both a hero’s longing and the deep scars of betrayal by life itself. I am catastrophically aware of every injustice, every slight, and that awareness is as much a curse as it is a gift. In this chaos, I search for a way to be more than my pain, to be the vessel through which love might one day triumph over despair.
And so, I continue, clinging to that delicate hope sparked by her love, even as I battle an inner storm that threatens to consume me. Because in this broken existence, if there is any truth, it is that love never truly fails. It endures, perseveres, and sometimes, just sometimes, it lights a path through the darkest of nights.
I am Virginia’s son.