Rebuilding through Suffering

My mind is on repeat of the who, what, and when.

The where, how and why, they seem to just fizzle out and float on by.

When my thoughts are all a clutter and there’s no order in my head; often I sit and wonder if that’s why I’m full of dread.

Hectic wandering – feeling lost, alone, and scared… Is this my reality; are these passing weeks really dreams; is this what amnesia truly means?

Nobody can warn you of the horrors unfolding, because not even they can imagine what memory loss is really withholding.

Your past, your present, your future years – they’re all held prisoner by this warden of fears.

Consciousness is but a state of delusion that you’re in control and can manage your contusions.

Breaking free is but a solution – yet there’s no tools, no instructions, no map, no signs, no meanings – mostly confusion.

Before you wake you’d better hope, dream, and pray, because who knows what tomorrow will erase.

Nightmares turned actuality, and nowhere to hide or find security.

Sometimes there’s a crack in the wall and I can stand proud and tall – but not often enough for me to huff and puff.

A constant state of ever evolving enlightenment – or am I just getting used to a life of torment…?

Nothing is certain, or safe, or fair – Everything hurts, and feels brittle and bare.

I put my fight face on and hope to inspire those who feel so dire – — If I don’t, who will? If I won’t keep trying, who will fail? If I keep fighting the impossible, and trying to be unstoppable, maybe – just maybe! – someone will come along and plug up this endlessly leaking well.

If I come up with ways to help others cope, maybe my life of pain will inspire some hope.

If I can ease the suffering of another, maybe my life of strain will let down gently like a feather.

If I can show others that life is truly worth living, maybe I’ll even start believing.

Sometimes to achieve, you must lastly succeed – Accomplish for others first, and then you’ll get your reprieve.

Maybe this is how humility works – First I suffer, then fight for others, then get a break in these hurts.

Maybe if I can prove you’re not alone, I won’t feel so abandoned – not by people you see, but by my own memory.

Not everything is so dire, when your life is aspired – but the darkness surrounds me, no matter how much light I can make afire.

Not every battle is won but more scars I have worn, not every torment is flung into the darkness it had come from.

I walk through the my life with my head looking forward – there’s no reason to look back – it’s been erased like a computer’s been hacked.

Do I sound dismal, depressed, congruently obsessed? You would be too if your mind had broken up and left you a mess.

You couldn’t possibly imagine what it’s like to live with an incalculable ration of who you once were; there’s no hope for a cure.

If I could choose to live without a fractured mind, I’d choose to be made whole… I’d live without the cruelty of a crime that robbed me of my most of my soul.

There’s no reincarnation here for me – once my mind was ripped from my skull…

It used to matter so very much that I find all my pieces for me to feel not so out of touch… now it seems those pieces, even if I could find them, are only unrecognizable bits of someone I’ve never known.

The “me” before amnesia is not the “new me” I am today – she has long since died and has decayed.

The “new me” now is tattered and torn, vulnerable and feels so scorned – I feel unusual in my skin, so very paper thin.

The hope in my heart is meant for others to use, for others to thrive, for others to stop this senseless abuse.

Memory loss is a thug without a care in the world – indiscriminately misusing its power to reduce, and traduce, and unfurl.

If there’s a solid end of what living life ‘un-alive’ can mend, I’ll be the first to find it out and spread it to no end.

I want all who suffer to be defended and made whole, whether one part at a time, or in total.

There’s nothing peaceful about a mind torn from who you’ve become since you were born – a new life awaits you once you’ve been shattered at your core.

I find joys, and solitude, and even means to ends – even if only to get me through and onto the undoubted next hurdle I must ascend.

A life without meaning is no life etal, so I dedicate my suffering to ease those who cannot think much if not at all…

None of us asked for a life so abruptly taken – even though we still breath, feel, think, and see… I fight for all who suffer, because it’s all that’s left in me.

Fighting gets me through the day, through the turmoil of my plight… without fighting I’d given up a while ago because there would be no other right.

If not for fighting through each and every step of the way, I’d be lost to the darkness of memory loss’ cold, dark, cruel nights.

If not for being a fighter I’d have nothing left, because once you’ve lost it all, that’s all you can be but bereft.

One day there will be hope, safety, and something I recognize as ‘myself’ – until then I’ll keep fighting on and fill up my internal bookshelf.

Many chapters will be written, many books it will adorn, one day my life will be full again and I’ll feel much more at home.

Not all is lost, not all is gone, what little bits are left I will use to build upon.

The tragedy that has befallen me will one day make me strong… one day I’ll look back at these times and wonder how I ever carried on.

Until then I’ll keep on fighting through until my bookcase is full and life has paid its due.


Thanks for reading!


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