I’m not going to lie; yesterday was a very dark place for me. Many questions over where I’m going, what I’m doing, what I’m going to achieve — and whether or not it’s worth achieving. I’ve tried to look at the stories I’d like to write, the scenarios I want to create, the skills I desire to hone as an artist, but often the desire to simply give up becomes overwhelming. It makes for quite the alternating conundrum of motivation and sloth. A dark pit, made difficult to escape.
I often wonder what my mother would say or do in these situations, but I have to remind myself that I am not her. She is gone and I remain; my actions and judgment are my own. Proceeding forward is in my hands and mine alone. That can be a challenge when life’s trials have thrown numerous obstacles in your way, with doubt clouding your mind. What’s the point of going forward when you are only pushed back by something like a disability? Is it worth continuing when you are belittled over your inability to hear? How does one go forth in an already challenging environment with a disadvantage?
The maw of despair can be overwhelming. I can’t blame those who simply allow themselves to be enveloped by it. It takes incredible effort to pull away when the deck’s stacked against you, much less when you at least have some advantages. My mother understood that, which is why this time of year is always so painful for me. Without her guidance, her wisdom, there is so much missing from my reasons to continue. I push myself forward, if only for her memory. She believed in this endeavor, even when I could never see it. Perhaps, in the end, memory is all that I need to push forward out of that maw of despair.
But I still miss you, mother.