A Journey of Self-Love

Thursday June 6, 2019                    By: Menna Doubal

“Be faithful to that which exists within yourself.” – André Gide

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via Cloudy Thurstag 

You wake up in the morning, take a few steps then lay bare in front of your bedroom mirror. You’re looking at yourself, as if you’re viewing a sculpture showcased in a museum. A painting of you, yet, you don’t see your colors. Societal doll carved on your forehead. You’re sculpted by people’s perception of you, splashed by their words that entitles you. You’re looking yourself in the eyes, but all you see is a body without a soul. A painting without a title; void. The remnants of your true self are buried deep inside. You might even consider them non-existent.

Every now and then an unwanted guest comes to bestow his greetings. A scream from somewhere that echoes and shivers your whole being. It’s a call for help. A voice that urges you to take a deeper look inside. To search for its source. To help it get to the shore again. Most of the time, you ignore it, shrug it off like it’s just some noise; Nagging thoughts that sabotage your piece of mind. Nonetheless, you continue living your life. Every morning you wake up, wander around like a zombie, give fake smiles and indulge in pointless conversations, then, temporarily die. The cycle goes on and on like a train with no station. No goals. No aspirations. Preying on the few remnants of your soul.

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via: Cloudy Thurstag 

This voice comes to haunt you once more. This time is different. This time is louder, more impactful. You feel different. You’re overwhelmed by sadness for no reason. You feel like a lost child. A person that’s been dumped in the rain for God knows how long. Grief inhabits you, every piece of you. You’re fragile. You’re all alone. You seek help from one of those people you call “friends” but no one answers you. Confusion knocks on your door. “What’s wrong with me?” you ask yourself. You reach out for help, but darling, in this world everyone is riding his/her own train, drenched in his/her own troubles. There’s no place for lost souls; no refuge. You have to save yourself. You’re the captain.

You confine yourself in a dark corner. You lose sight of the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s been awhile now while the voice still lingers. You take another look at yourself in the mirror. Someone tampered with the painting. Its essence is now vague, no prominent features; It’s a mess. The artists abandoned the painting. And now it has to recreate itself from ashes. However, this time, using its own colors.

You have to learn to paint from scratch, surely a challenging process. The flame of passion would extinguish a few times, mocked at by others. Yet, the voice that emerged from hope, the one that never allowed you to drown in the first place would keep igniting it. See, even though everyone one abandoned you, hope never did. You were never stranded or undesired. You were always there for yourself. All what you had to do, is solemnly to take a deeper look.

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