Falling, failing and restoring faith

Catching a glimpse of the falling leaf on one fine autumn evening rolls me back to the day when I had nothing but only hope to keep my life up and going. There were series of events happening that tested and pushed my anxiety towards the brink.

It felt strange, it was intricate, things blurred out of existence and I know the pain was coming. It went by fast, yet slow, almost suspended. I was able to feel the impact. It hit hard. I did not move; torn, reddened skin, weeping, I stood. I could see the definitions I have been holding onto falling right before my eyes and even before I could comprehend the transformation I was pushed to a new phase.

A visible crack in my personality was seen. I knew this too. It felt that I was forcing someone else out of me. It consumed a lot of effort. I drained. There was a silence in the soul and there was not a much of myself I could see. I sensed that I lost my track. It felt wrong.

But I was sober enough to think and ask questions to myself. Most importantly, I questioned my pursuit. I felt a pause. I gave my everything to solitude to keep me sane. I was able to reinterpret what I had interpreted before. 

It made sense. 

It gave me a relief.

I felt peace.

And it was the peace that helped me to attach, to my emotional and conscious roots to build from, 

it was tough and still is but all I know is,

 “A man is a hero, not because he is braver than anyone else, but because he is brave for ten minutes longer” from my favorite, Rudolf waldo Emerson.