Despair
de·spair
intr.v. de·spaired, de·spair·ing, de·spairs.
1. To lose all hope. 2. To be overcome by a sense of futility or defeat.
--de·spair n. 1. Complete loss of hope. 2. One despaired of
or causing despair. [Middle English despeiren, from Old French desperer,
from Middle English despeir, from Anglo-Norman, from Old French desperer,
to despair.]
I
often wonder which comes to your conscious mind first, the desire
to die or the realization that you have nothing left. No dreams, no
desires, no escapes. You look around, and nothing seems to matter
anymore. You begin your day because there isn't anything else to do.
You come to understand that you are achieving other people's dreams
because your dreams are empty - a bottomless void that echoes what
was once your life. And no matter how hard you try to find the tattered
dreams that once filled your life, they are beyond you. Those dreams
are gone. Dead. Nothing can bring them back. Looking for new dreams
keeps you moving forward until you find out that dreams don't really
exist. They are fairy tales to keep you believing that life is worth
living.
You
can only walk so far in the empty land. Your motions don't change
the reality around you. Its almost as though you were already dead.
You don't fill you mind with the considerations that most people think
you would. You don't wonder if anyone will miss you, because you already
know the answer. They don't. Life goes on, with or without you. You
don't worry about the next realm, or the next life - whichever one
you find will exist once you've drawn your last breath. You just ache
with the emptiness of everything around you. You can't feel the emotions
that are supposed to move you because they too, have already passed
on to the next phase. There is only the abyss left. The no feeling
- no hope place that haunts you in the early hours of the morning
when you can't find anything else to dwell on. You can't read another
book or watch another movie because your eyes burn from the constant
flood of other people's words and thoughts. You don't want to admit
to despair, because those people who still surround you are weary
of hearing about your dismal existence. What then? You move along,
one step at a time. Wondering when its your chance to leave this place.
You feel hemmed in by other's demands that you continue to try. But
for what? It is only a shattered illusion. You know that you aren't
the first person to walk this path. You can see the smooth surface
of packed dirt left by the heels of the ones who walked before you.
The road is limitless. It stretches beyond your imagination. Any clues
the last person may have left have faded into the barren landscape
surrounding you. Cruelly the images of what you once had flash like
a breaking dawn, only to remind you that they are gone. Hanging like
blossoms, those images haunt you from the trees. When you reach out
to touch one, relive the moment, it falls to dust at your feet. Then
comes the reality that you have destroyed everything that you hold
dear. The struggle to keep everything from falling apart is eventually
what shatters the love that people offered. You grasp and hold tight,
only to push them farther away. By the time you find your mistake,
those loved ones have long left you.
Without
thought or desire you stumble along the path. Why bother looking to
the left or to the right? You'll only find reminders of what should
have been. Looking forward brings you no closer to what will be. Looking
behind you only brings the horrible desolation of what might have
been. In weariness you close your eyes, only to find that the emptiness
carries on. Nothing left to lose, nothing left to gain. You hold on
to the promise that your existence will soon end, but that you can't
end it at your time of choosing. You have to wait until the obstacles
remaining show themselves and you cling to that with all of your being.
You want to scream, to demand to know when its your turn. But those
who remain by you have heard those screams too many times. They cringe
at the sounds that pour from your dry throat. Whatever pity or love
they have felt for you has long been cast off. "Why can't you
look ahead?" "Don't you know that your dreams change?"
"New dreams take place of the ones you lost?" Sadly they
don't know that the dreams are lost. You can't find the hope that
they insist exists. Tiny fragments of hope and joy capture you for
an instant, making your heart beat faster. Then the moment passes
and you are more lost than before. If only you could explain that
the lack isn't on their part, it's deep within you. Unreachable. Untouchable.
A festering scar on your soul that consumes you.
The
only solace offered you comes in the form of tiny pills that numb
you to the vast emptiness that surrounds you. You only feel alive
when you spend a few days without the comfort of the numbness. You
continue to ply yourself with the "cure" because it makes
walking the path less horrible. Then you forget to drug yourself,
and the reality that you have been walking here all that time suddenly
glares through the residue of numbness. Was it worth the numbness
to only find that nothing has changed? You satisfy those around you
because your screams stop. You stamp away the burning ache to know
what really is, you bury the accusations and the memories. But they
remain hidden only to pounce into your mind when you are least prepared
to shield yourself. The festering scar opens and the newly tormented
soul screams in agony that only you can understand.
You
pray for some sign that its going to be worth the terrible emptiness
you carry around as your burden. But no one can promise you that the
agony of waiting will lead to the existence you long for. Will you
ever pass from this place? If you do, will it be only to be given
another chance at the life you lost? Will you find the place that
others promised you? Will you have lost be waiting there for you,
or did you lose that chance because you carried on in the barren plains
too long? Did the death of your hope end any chance for reward? Or
have you already died, and this is what your existence shall be? Did
you lose the way to the promised land? Or were you mislead and this
is what your life was all along - living with the shadows of what
would have been had you not lost your way.
Strewn
across the path, you find the means to end it all now. Subtle reminders
that you have the opportunity to make it all go away. But should you
give in to that desire, will you lose the dreams you were promised?
Will it only start the cycle again? How many times do you have to
walk this path before you learn the way? Knowing that you have been
here before, in the form of another time, is no comfort. It is only
the promise of finding your way back here again and again until you
find the skills to never drop into despair. Will it never end?
