A Days Called Way Back When

You have to get up, son.
You can’t run forever. You can’t hide either.
You can lose, and that’s fine.
But you can’t quit. No.
Quitting becomes a habit, and this habit is way too hard to break.

You have to get up. You have to give it your best, each and every day.
No matter what.

There’s no way to avoid life. There’s no way to avoid what’s coming.
Your life is on the way and in the mail.
Some days, the mail is good. You might not get all greeting cards and junk mail, but It’s better than the bills that come or the information that brings you bad news.

Your life is right here and, in part, your life is out there too.
Everything is out there.
You. Your dreams.
Your hopes.
All of these things are still alive, unless you let them die.
So, don’t do that.

I understand the past, all too well.
I understand the disappearance of people, places, and things.
I understand the relevance of change and the discomforts of starting over again.
I have lost far more times than I can count.
And somehow, I’m still here.

There is no one among us who has not been knocked down.
Everyone gets hit in life.
No one gets out of this alive.
No one escapes unscathed.
This is the big league now.
Welcome to the fight game.

You have to come out swinging.
You have to fight for your life. Maybe not always.
But yes, believe it.
There is a fight going on.
And you maybe down, but you’re not out.

I’ll tell you this much:
No one knows what it takes to be you.
No one knows the pains you feel inside, yet you still have to compete.
You still have to get up and out of bed. You have to show up.
No matter what. . .
No one knows how it hurts you when the crowds are gone.
No one understands your pains from silence when all is quiet and the only thing you can do to avoid the inner-prison is replace thoughts with action.

And you try.
You barter and you trade.
You look for the escape.
Or you fight from the flat of your back.
And you hope. And you pray.

I see you.
I can feel the emptiness.
I can hear the heartbreak.

I can see the desperation, which only appears in your eyes. I see how you fake a smile, as if to walk around like all is well. I know what you do.
You put on your brave face and act like you are strong enough to take the weight.
But at the moment, no, you can’t hold the weight.
Everything is just too much.
I see this.
And yes, I can hear your cries, alone at night.
I see you wondering where you’ll be in six months.
Or if at all, would you be wanted?
Could you be loved by anyone and loved for your heart, despite your circumstances?
I understand these questions.

I have asked myself the very same thing:
Who is going to want me now?

I understand this very well.

Perhaps I see this from my own perspective.
Maybe I am off the mark.
Maybe I am biased.
Or maybe I am like you, terminally unique and no one else understands.
(or cares to) 

I know people tell you not to talk this way.
People say don’t think like that.
But I don’t say that.
Be honest. If this is what you think then this is what you think.
Feel what you feel.
Say what you need to say.
And if you want to scream and cry, then scream and cry.
I would rather you let this out than hold it in like some emotional cancer, undetectable by everyone else, and rotting you away from the inside out.

Say what you need to say.
But you have to get up now, son.

You have to save your own life.
No one else will do this for you.
And this is not to say that no one will help when you need it
The help is the easy part.
It’s getting back up and on your feet.
That’s the trick!

I get how exhausting this is.
I know how cold this is.
I get how tired you must be.
I get how everything is out of control, and next, we question, “What else can happen?”
And the answer is plenty.

Depression and its ripple effect can overwhelm the atmosphere.  
You stop taking care of yourself.
You spiral down.
You implode.
You fold inwards and still, you pose, and you posture.
You walk and you smile and you put off the vibe that all is well.
But no. All is not.
Nothing is.

You have to get up now, son.
The days of way back are behind you.
All you have is now.
Hurt, sick, tired or otherwise, life is calling you.
It’s time to answer, son —
because quitting is not an option.

I know the tension is unthinkable.
And I know that your options are unattractive.
But ante up now, son.
And fight back
because your sickness is incredible.