Times are changing. This revelation, although quite obvious, struck me. The revelation it self was not peculiar at all to me, but the means by which it came to me stood out quite clear. Each year over Christmas time, old school friends of mine and I get together to celebrate and catch up. This year the was some doubt as to whether this “Christmaspalooza” would occur. As I was driving about thinking to myself, I drove by one momentous part of our whole celebration-the house that Christmas threw up on. A house that to this day is covered in every sort of Christmas knick-knack you could ever imagine.  And that house is what caused me to realize that things in this life are not static, but in constant fluid motion.

The house of course is still covered in the ugly Christmas decorations of old and it looked the same as it has the past few years, but as I took a closer look I began to notice the small parts of the house that had fallen into disrepair. Chipping paint, an old run down vehicle, and a patch of dead weeds that had over grown the small piece of earth near the house during the summer, none of which had been there the first year we discovered the horrendous tribute to everything Christmas. Even the Santa that perched upon the roof top year after year, season after season, was faded from the sun and tipped over on his side. 

The house has changed, but in my mind so has everything it represents. The years have passed so quickly that all the seasons have run together. I cannot remember which winter it was that we first gazed upon that old house, I remember the discovery itself, but so many of the details have slipped away like water through cupped hands. The first Christmas celebration has faded into memory right beside the first day of school or my first kiss.

I remember so much of the old days. I remember the jokes, the laughter, and the bond of friendship. I also remember the trials, the tears, and the vindictiveness.  Some memories remain vivid, but others are barely a shadow in my mind. I remember how we all once were, but now the passage of time has changed us.  We did not realize this change occurring. We could not feel the experiences shaping us, molding us. But now as I sit ruminating upon such things, I realize that although time felt like it was moving slowly and I felt as if I would never change, I truly have.

Now I sit in my third year of college, it seems like yesterday I graduated high school. My mind is filled with new knowledge, old knowledge, facts, rumors, memories, and every other sort of neurological knick knack. The care free days of old are gone. Instead of worrying about whether I am coloring in the lines, I worry about my next paper and it's potential impact on my future. I worry about my moral and civic duties instead of "playing nice" on the playground. I worry about my future career which at this moment in my life is one thing I have no clear direction of. Not to say that everything is terrible. There are many benefits to having a wealth of experience under your belt. There is so much more in the world to enjoy and so many places I can wander about freely in solitude if I choose.

But there are many chapters that have been written, many pages of memories, and many changes that have occured that sometimes I do wish things were how they once were. Time like a villian has stolen those days away. I can but look back on what I remember. It brings me saddness and joy, comfort and pain. To forget those days would be a curse. But to lose today would be much worse. I sit reflecting back and embracing the present all within the same moment. Oh how the mind works...

I’ve decided that no one in the world is worth listening to. The wounds inflicted by the words of others run to deep. And every time a word is spoken behind the back, tears well up and fall into them. It burns and nothing can make that go away. No one is worth trying to please. Unselfishly you give, and selfishly they take and take and take until all that is left is a gash so massive it would take a thousand years to heal. Why can’t one person prove me wrong? Why can’t I find the loyalty that we all deserve? Why can’t people be as real with each other as they are with themselves? It is a wonder to me that I am still standing- if standing is really what I am doing. Perhaps holding myself up, slowly slumping to the floor. Battered, bruised, and weary. A person can only handle so much and they collapse in aheap. I want to wake from this awful dram. I want to pull the covers over my head, close my eyes, and try it all again. Don't get me wrong; there are times that I wouldn't give up fro the world. Times when things sucked and it turned out ok in the end. Why does it hurt so badly?  Why does it fell lie it is always raining on me? Why do I want to collapse? Why do I feel like it will never dawn on a good day again? I have been waiting here forever and nothing seems to change. Fate? Is that what this is? God? Is He trying to crush his child? Is He trying to sweep away all the joy that I have left? 

It hurts to be awake. I rise in the morning more tired than before. Beaten from yesterdays news. It piles on top of my already weary soul. I move through the day, grasping at little moments of hope- the sun breaking through the clouds, a hug from a friend, a smile from a stranger. I cling to the cliff off which I've fallen holding tightly to the edge. I look down and it goes on and on. There seems to be no bottom, no end.

I walk slowly on, I carry on. I smile, but inside I burn. I burn with saddness, pain, betrayal, hate, envy, and frustration. I burn from the misunderstandings, the lies, the injuries, the illness, the loneliness, the stress. I'm weary of thinking, of analyzing, of hiding, of running. I'm tired of being someone I'm not, doing what they say, judging my moments before they happen, of being scared. I'm sick of trying not to offend, to frighten, to put off, to hate. 

More than anything I wish my waking moments weren't filled with dread of seeing someone, of having to be near certain people, of having to run across some. I wish I could go back to when things were simple. When I let life lead me. Where I could go anywhere and not worry. Where I could move without fear of judgement of my actions. But alas, that was taken from me as well. Swiftly it was stolen away from me. I hate them for it. I'm annoyed by it. I didn't need that and I was given one more burden to add to the bag upon my back.

What hurts the most is knowing that I actually hate something. Hate. I can't honestly say that I've hated anything until now. Dislike yes. Annoyed by yes. Indifferent of yes. But hate. Not like this. It hurts me but I can't not. They are a cause of pain so deep, so soul shaking, so close to my core that I cannot honestly remain uneffected. Maybe it was unintentional, but it hurt more than they will ever now.

It hurts to sleep. I lie down to sleep and I slowly fade away to dream.  The nightmares come like thieves and steal my rest away. Thoughts swirl about in my head. I toss and turn. I cannot sleep and when I do my world comes in and invades that peace as well. I awake in the night, tears streaming down my cheeks. I feel physical pain. I cry and I cry. I weep until the tears won't come anymore. I lie there for hours trying to let everything fall away. I want it to leave my head. I try to sleep a few more hours. It isn't restful. And so I awake to repeat again the days of agony.

So I cling to hope, the beauty of the ordinary. I cling to what I have left. The rubble of my life that I will rebuild. The mercy and love of God. I cling to what I hope will be. I cling to the idea that maybe someday soon I will awake and feel refreshed. I will feel like myself. I will feel whole again. I cling to the little bit of optimist left in me. But I'm fighting the pessimist and the realist.