'“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -'
Emily Dickinson.
If hope is the thing with feathers, then pain is the thing with shards of glass, and fear is the thing with darkness. They all inhabit us, perching inside and battling for dominance. I have a friend, and Pain is the one who struggles the most to dominate her. And she is beautifully joyous, her inner strength shining even when she feels there is nothing shining about her.
I live with fears darkness, even though I don't carry around fear, I carry around the darkness of fear and pain, everywhere. Depression grabs me, and I cry into my boyfriends shoulder that I'll never be normal. I fear, never being normal. That I'll have a baby and they'll feel unloved because some days I cannot get out of bed, even though I love them, and I'd do anything for them. I cannot move. I cannot breathe, I cannot think, and I cannot dream. I cannot be normal.
Even abnormal, I can live day to day. Sometimes I can't get up, but the days that I can are more important. The days when I smile through tears outnumber the days where I only have tears. Hope is the thing with feathers, and the days where I only have hope, the feathers are enough.
'I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.'
That perches in the soul -'
Emily Dickinson.
If hope is the thing with feathers, then pain is the thing with shards of glass, and fear is the thing with darkness. They all inhabit us, perching inside and battling for dominance. I have a friend, and Pain is the one who struggles the most to dominate her. And she is beautifully joyous, her inner strength shining even when she feels there is nothing shining about her.
I live with fears darkness, even though I don't carry around fear, I carry around the darkness of fear and pain, everywhere. Depression grabs me, and I cry into my boyfriends shoulder that I'll never be normal. I fear, never being normal. That I'll have a baby and they'll feel unloved because some days I cannot get out of bed, even though I love them, and I'd do anything for them. I cannot move. I cannot breathe, I cannot think, and I cannot dream. I cannot be normal.
Even abnormal, I can live day to day. Sometimes I can't get up, but the days that I can are more important. The days when I smile through tears outnumber the days where I only have tears. Hope is the thing with feathers, and the days where I only have hope, the feathers are enough.
'I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.'