Hopelessness
My records say I wrote this poem in 1993, nearly 19 years ago. It is incredibly difficult for me to realize that so long has past. But it has.
The door is dark
I open the door...
The sun blinds my eyes
I'm in the middle of the blazing desert
There's nothing but shifting sand
No water anywhere
At any price, it seems
I am alone
So very, very alone
Just me and sand and wind
Then I hear the voices in the wind...
"Why keep walking?"
"What's the use of torturing yourself?"
"You'll die from thirst anyway... Why not here?"
"Why the hell not here? And now?"
But I struggle on
I know it's useless
But it seems I have little choice
I beg, I plead, I cry out...
"Just one drop of water and
I'll walk to hell and back!"
But only the dry wind answers...
Laughing
Throwing sand in my face
I walk on
Aimlessly
For I am strong
It seems that I've always had to be strong
Since a very young child
It felt like I only had myself to depend on
To defend from the wind
All I want is to sit down and curl up
With the children inside
In some loving arms
Until the pain goes away
But there are no arms but my own
And it seems there will never be...
Just wind and sand
No water
No love
So I crawl into my bed
The safest, loneliest spot I know
Staring at the ceiling
Counting my breaths
Or my tears...
Anything not to think of the endless barren sand
If perchance I sleep
I dream of water and love
And loving arms to hold us
To take care of us...
But I awake to sand and wind
I know if I hang on
Time will push the shadowy dark doorway back to the corner
Where it will wait
To suck me in again
Through its porthole into the sand
But while I'm there
It's just so hard
So useless
So pointless to fight
But I fight without knowing why
For I am strong
And alone
With no one to fight for me
Or share their strength with me
No arms to comfort me
I fight on
Ever searching for those arms
And the water they'll bring to quench the thirst inside
I learned three huge lessons that I could not possible have had any perspective on back then.
First, that only I can rescue myself. I probably had heard that many times, but it had absolutely no meaning for me. Now, I know I can have help, and often a lot of it. And while, in the poem, I found my own arms useless, ultimately I end up in a far better place when I am holding myself.
Second, back then I only saw undesirable parts of myself as enemies. This did not come up in the poem, but this was a fact of life for me. I had zero compassion for myself. As compassion grew, the drive to keep parts isolated from one another lessened.
Third, that it is possible to cultivate hope. I was totally lost back then, had zero hope, and clearly saw myself mostly as a victim and not empowered.
These three are tightly coupled and I have come to believe that these are the main ingredients needed to heal. At least that seems to be the case for myself.
I suppose what I wrote about back then was the best I could do: hold on, without knowing why, even though I thought there was no point to it.
As I reflect on what I wrote so long ago, I do have a sense that I have come a long way. But many of the same struggles remain. I will often find myself in a state where every word of this poem is an accurate representation of the present-day moment. But what is different now is that it does not remain that way.
While it was undoubtedly not a good position to be so constantly in a state of hopelessness, it was sort of comfortable for me in a sad kind of way. Now there is a new challenge, namely the delicate dance between hopefulness and hopelessness.
In order to progress in my healing, I have to face inconsistencies, conflicts, and dilemmas head on. That is the friction of healing I often write about. It is the hard work of healing. And that hard work is not optional.
Sure, I can be knocked down, and that happens all the time. But now when I get up it is often with purpose. I now know why I fight. I have long thought that I fight because of my wife and kids. Of course that is part of it. But I truly fight for myself. I fight to heal.
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Hi Paul,
Thank you so much for sharing this poem, and your thoughts on healing.
I sometimes wonder when we should look to save ourselves, as opposed to seeking outside assistance? This is something I struggle with greatly, as it ties into my sense of not trusting others; and as mentioned within the poem, needing to be strong as a child. That alone is possibly a great indication of my dysfunctional thinking, as I can only see it as being one extreme, or the other, and nothing in-between.
I'm glad that you have been able to find the inner resources, connections and ability to move on from the space that you talk about within your poem. I understand it to be a shifting experience, but that it has, and can shift, is enough to give hope.
Take care,
CG
Hi CG: Thank you for what you wrote here. I can see what you are saying from the lens of when we were young. The way I look at it now is that you can save yourself and ask for outside help. It is not an either/or. My own experience says that the outside help ends up giving us more tools and support so we are able to help ourselves. Lots of people get help for lots of things. Many people don't change their own car oil, they have to get someone to help them. They don't do their own heart valve transplants, they have to get someone to help them. And on and on. Asking for help is innately human.
What a beautiful poem, thanks.
I fight on
Ever searching for those arms.
To me, this is a very accurate, and beautiful, description of life. Why do we keep doing it? Not really sure...but probably for those moments of hope amid the hopelessness, which I hope will grow, as yours have done.
I hope that we can all find 'those arms', whether they be ours or someone else's. I think we all deserve that.
Thank you Robin. Yes, we do it because we are human and we were given the gift of hope.
Wow! Powerful imagery.
Many years ago, I went through times of just holding on and not knowing what was going to happen or why. But I just kept on going...pushing myself to not give up when it was all I wanted to do. But giving up scared me and I just did not know how to give up. I was driven. It seemed endless. Thankfully, I am past most of that now, even though there are times when I sometimes feel as if I have made little progress. But that feeling does pass.
Desire to be there for my children helped me to push through a lot. However, I have to agree with you that it is most important that I fight for healing for myself...not just for them. While they are important...I am important, too!
I wish you well, Paul.
Thanks OneSurvivor. It's almost impossible to be in this place and hear from others that there is hope that life can change. Some do not make it. I am happy many of us have.
It is sad that some don't make it, but I like to think positively. I keep hoping for everyone.
That's a nice offer for others, OS, and I appreciate that. I try to make sure first, though, that I make it. Holding onto that hope even for me is as much as I can handle.
I can appreciate that, Paul. I will keep hoping for the best for you. :-)