Truth B Arkivd: 12/27/2021
Life really comes at you when you least expect it. Growing up, we were all warned that life would just come at you when you weren't anticipating it. It would pick you up by the neck, squeeze tightly, and taunt you as you begged to breathe. We heard it from parents, teachers, and even through the hidden messages in books and movies.
They told us that life is unpredictable and filled with challenges that would test our strength, resilience, and spirit. We did not appreciate those warnings—at least I didn't. I thought the warnings were exaggerated tales meant to instill fear and discipline so I'd listen to my elders.
I believed I was invincible, that I could navigate through life unscathed and untouched because, to me, you can't make mistakes if you know what leads to them. Back then, it hadn't occurred to me that mistakes come in many ways, and the harsh realities were too far ahead in the distance for me to care. But over time, that sense of invincibility eroded. Life has a way of forcing its lessons upon you, regardless of how prepared you think you are or how much you think you need to learn.
It wasn’t long before I began to feel the weight of those words—life did come at me, and it came with a vengeance. The tight grip around my neck, the suffocating pressure—it all became so real. I watched all of my dreams shatter, every goal I had for myself crumble in the palms of my own hands as I juggled whether I wanted my sanity or my sanctuary. In those moments of despair and struggle, I finally understood the warnings I had dismissed so casually. The harsh winds of reality, once too distant to concern me, now raged at full force. Life had indeed come to teach its harsh lessons, and I found myself unprepared for its relentless test.
It was in those moments of despair and struggle that I finally understood the warnings I had dismissed so casually. The cruel hands of life don’t just squeeze you physically; they torment your spirit and mock your every attempt to break free.
The pain isn't just in the choking, but in the helplessness—the realization that no amount of pleading will make life ease its grip. How much do I want to breathe when I've lost all of who I thought I was? When I let go of who I thought I wanted to be? When I had to make decisions that I knew would hurt me, but would hurt me even more if I didn't make them. There's pain in everything, from the known to the unknown. Whether I understand phenomena or not, a dreadful curiosity fills my bones and makes me walk in agony along an evil world.
There's an excruciating pain in being an adult—a pain that I swore up and down I would never experience. All of this brings me to my point. I’ve learned to discern between the attainable and the impossible. Finding someone I can love? Risky, time-consuming, and unlikely… but doable. Finding someone who loves me back? A futile dream.
Once you realize what’s within your grasp and what’s forever out of reach, you stop extending your arm. It's a waste of energy, time, and most painfully, hope. So why reach for what you can never have? People are experts at dishing out false hope, championing dreams without acknowledging the harsh truths. I've always been bothered by how encouraging some people tend to be. I want support, but I don't want fantasies. Some people haven’t yet grasped reality and push you along the wrong path. They urge you to reach for the stars, conveniently forgetting that sometimes, those very stars will scorch you to ashes at the slightest touch.
That much should be obvious, yet not everyone grasps it. Humans are born naïve, and unless taught otherwise, remain so. I too was naïve for a long time. But after my heart was viciously torn apart—not by others, but by my own self-patronizing foolishness—I had no choice but to face the brutal realities of life. This is why I am the way I am now. I refuse to endure that kind of pain again. I avoid taking chances. When a situation could go either way, I avoid it entirely. Things can either work out or collapse… I can’t risk the devastation. But in teaching myself to avoid risks, I neglected the cruelest lesson of all: doing nothing can lead to something far worse. And it did. It definitely did.
