On a cold night in December

Looking back on it all, he was surprised by just how far he had stumbled. On a cold night in December, walking a lonely road in the darkness, the realization of just how far down his life had fallen became a clear picture in his mind. And he stopped , and he shed a tear.

His life had taken a turn that had led him down a very lonely path. He had quietly, with little notice, dug himself into a hole that took him almost a year to crawl out of. It is only on this lonely walk that it occurs to him just how small he had become during those times. It was as if the person that lived inside of him had crawled as far as it could inside of his heart and buried itself under all it could find to cover itself with, to hide from a world that seemed destined to only hurt him. To belittle him. To make him feel insignificant.

He remembers when it started. The pain of being told that there was no place for him. That he was no longer needed and that he needed to disappear. It is said that what does not kill us makes us stronger. He knew this had to be true. If having everything you hold dear, including your dignity, stripped from you doesn’t send you to an early grave, then nothing else could be strong enough to send him there. He had wanted to die. He just didn’t allow it. He suffered through it, mostly because he believed he deserved all the pain and tears that all this had brought to him. He knew for sure that if those that supposedly loved him more than anything else on Earth had decided that being a part of his life was not a requirement anymore, than he must have done something to deserve every moment of suffering that it provided.

As he paced along the road, kicking stones out of his way and hearing the cars passing on the highway above this place, he remembers the day that he allowed his heart to release the real person inside of him again. It was as painful as the burial. It took all his strength to allow it. And even after it was done, he knew it would take time to get used to it. He was scared. Frightened that the world would really see him and reject him completely. He had closed himself up and in the process had found a way to shoulder on and work hard. What the world saw was only what he would allow. The outer shell of who he really was, or is. His decision to release was one made of necessity. He felt he was suffocating. That the person inside, if left in that dark place, would cease to exist and he would be locked in the unfeeling persona that he had adopted. He just couldn’t stay that way any longer. So, he opened up. And he showed his real face.

In the months that have passed, he has discovered himself again. He has found that person inside that he buried so long ago. And he is finding comfort in this place. It hasn’t always been easy. He has had moments of terrible pain, both physical and emotional. But, he has also had great joy. He has lost his heart. And he has seen his future and it makes him smile. He looks forward to what is to come. Because, what has happened has been like stepping into a dream, of sorts. He has found that showing his true self, his real heart, has brought him a love that he never expected again. That he believed was far from possible for him any longer.

But, even in all of this joy, comes moments of sadness. Moments that bring the ghost of what drove him to hide himself. And in those moments, for just a little while, he crawls back inside and becomes silent. He doesn’t know any other way to deal with pain…with frustration. There are many kinds of frustrations. There are those that are important, but not emotionally based. With those, he tends to bury the frustration until, like a volcano, it just blows and spews vocal lava all over any one that is around. He wishes that he was better at handling that frustration. He wishes that he could find a way to hand some things better. The emotionally based frustrations tend to just silence him, leaving him lost in his own thoughts. He turns the basis for the frustration or pain over and over in his mind, trying hard to put some common sense to it. To find a way to just come to terms with what ever it is that has brought him to this point. He has a hard time communicating these frustrations. Mostly because, after what had caused the pain that buried his true self away the previous time, he has this small voice in his head that tells him no matter what he sees, no matter what he feels, that he is as insignificant as those that let him go had wanted him to feel. For the most part, he can ignore that voice, just mute it. But, in moments that may test that line, it can begin to shout at him. And it’s a battle that he has a hard time winning. And trying to fight the voice silences him.

The cold creeps under his jacket and he rubs his hands together to generate warmth. He turns and paces back the other way, returning to the place that he had come from. He tries so hard to leave that voice behind. But, it creeps up from behind and starts screaming in his head. “Here,” ; it says, “…here is proof that I speak the truth. You are nothing. You mean nothing. You are not worthy.” And a tear creeps into his eye. And he blames it on the cold wind. And the voice continues to scream.

It is only later, when the silences leaves him and he speaks up, from his heart, that the voice starts to quiet. It’s the warmth of her embrace that pushes the invisible mute button. It’s the passion in her kiss that begins to drive out the sadness in his heart. He realizes that his silence, not only unnecessary, is also destructive. He pauses, trying to tell himself to remember this lesson. To remember that he is better off just letting things out and expressing himself instead of just shutting down. The problem that he has is that in those moments, he can’t just talk about anything else. He has to get what is bothering him off his chest. And not everyone wants to hear that. Not everyone wants to know.

He tells himself that the lesson is not in talking through these moments, but not allowing them at all. To try, in those moments when the world seems so small, so cold, so lonely, to see the bigger picture. To see that even in those moments that are so painful that we don’t see them coming until, in the dark they sneak up and bite us in the ass, that he must remember the truth in this life. The truth that he sees when he looks in her eyes. The truth that he feels when she touches his skin. The truth that he hears when she tells him she loves him.

These are the things, on those cold walks in the dark that he must remember. Because, if he doesn’t, the voice will claim who he really is again…and in that action, all will be lost. And then he will truly be insignificant.