When I saw the words ‘someday, all this pain will be worthwhile’ one time, then many other times on countless blogs, I would just shake my head, and silently disagree that my sadness would come to nothing, except perhaps recovery, then more nothing. But I recently realised that my pain has helped one aspect of my life: I am writing again. And what I am writing is good. Sure, it’s just a few very short and broken stories with loose plots and screwed up people, but that’s okay. Because what I’ve written is good. It’s not happy, but it is real and I’m pleased with it. And writing helps. even just typing my thoughts right now helps me. And keeping a diary/journal of some kind, documenting my sporadic highs and frequent lows. Maybe at some point it will help me to look back and read that I once felt sad and angry to the point where I wrote: “I hate the world so much it hurts, I hate people and I hate the things we all do to each other and I hate our pitiful means of survival and our completely needless existence.” and it will also help me to know that the 20th and 21st July 2012 were both days where the happy took over from the sad. It’s a strange process, this sadness, or depression, or perhaps even process of recovery or whatever you want to call it, and writing helps. It really does. And finally, after years of not knowing what I wanted with my life or career or anything, I know that I want to write. And having something I want to do, even such a vague thing, is some sort of goal that I know can help keep me going for the time being. Â And I hope that other people can find things like this, I hope that some of you have found something positive and not painful that not only dulls the pain when you’re sad, but helps to make you happy as well, and ultimately help you. Because I know that just one happy moment, or second of pride doesn’t make us better at all, but it can help, just a little. And sometimes a little help is all we need. At the same time, sometimes it isn’t. And that’s sad, it’s really sad. It’s sad when the things that usually cheer you up come to nothing and leave you emptier than ever, when you’re left with nothing more than apathy for the world or your future. those things are so fucking painful it’s unreal. And they happen, sometimes more often than others. From time to time we all feel like breaking apart the things that make us happy, because we are all destructive creatures, we feel like throwing things and screaming at people and destroying all we see, even if at the same time we know we’re only hurting ourselves. Because sometimes, that is what our slightly screwed up thoughts tell us, that we need this destruction, that we don’t deserve happiness, that this is all it will be, that we should just stand back, create the fire and then just watch the show as everything burns to the ground. And that’s what we do, from time to time. And then we regret it, but that doesn’t mean we never repeat it. There may well come a time when I rip all the pages out of my floral notebook with the sharpie doodles and Disney and TWLOHA stickers on the back cover. But there might not. And at times, that little ‘might’ is all I have. At times the chance that something will or won’t happen is the thing that can save us. And that’s sad as well. It can be really sad to see how fragile everything is, how much value we are giving one word, one action of another, one potential outcome over another. It can be scary too, how we let this sadness control us and twist us and take almost everything away from us. And how secretive some of us are about the sadness, how all our families know about us is that we’re not always sunshine and rainbows, but we’re relatively happy people, we’re okay. And we know they are wrong, and a very small or very large part of us wants to yell and scream that we’re not okay, we’re not okay at all, we are broken and sad and we just need some kind of proof that the world is not as fucked up as it seems to be half the time, we just need someone to talk to- someone to listen to us, that’s all it might take. But we don’t. Because we’re scared and our sadness tells us that letting others in on what has become some kind of secret is a terrible idea? Or because the truly fucked up thing is that a part of us refuses to let us recover, a part of us wants us to be sad, to continue to break apart, be built up, before being broken again. And we let that part win far too often, we know. But that still changes nothing. And it is so so so hard to explain this to someone who hasn’t experienced this level of sadness, because it’s not something fathomable half the time, it’s all in our heads and most of us don’t even know why. And it can hurt so much but that pain is completely invisible a lot of the time. And that’s both a great and terrible thing, because we often don’t want our sadness on show for all the world to see and judge and pretend to understand, we don’t want sympathy, real or otherwise. But it’s also a terrible thing, because no matter how hard our shell, or high our walls are, a part of us, sometimes so small we don’t even register it, will always be half hoping someone will notice, that someone will crack open the shell, climb over the wall and just help us. But then the other part shuts that part up, telling it that we must be independent, that if we are to recover at all, it must be on our own terms and thanks to us, nobody else. And then there’s the internal battle that negativity usually wins. It shouldn’t, but it does. And maybe someday, the negative side might not have such a victory, not necessarily lose, but the fight might be harder to win, and the part of us strong enough to keep fighting despite inevitable defeat, might whisper to us that maybe it has a chance somehow, that we might find hope or trust or even let someone in just enough to put a dent in the shell, lose a centimetre off the wall, and maybe we might act on it someday. And perhaps that day might eventually come. And perhaps it won’t. But nonetheless, it is a possibility and not a definite. And even if there’s a more than likely chance of defeat and a smaller than likely chance of victory, I think that small chance is all we need. I think that small chances are sometimes better than good odds, because when the underdog wins, the feeling is more than we can ever imagine. I am yet to experience it yet, but I hope that one day, maybe I will. Maybe. Perhaps. Possibly. Not a definite ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and a whole lot of luck and chance. But sometimes that is what makes it all the more exciting. We don’t know where we’ll end up, but that isn’t important, what matters more is how we get there, how we face the challenges thrown at us, how we change day to day without even realising it, and how there is always a ‘maybe’ out there if we look hard enough, and most of all: how it’s okay to be unhappy and it’s okay to not do it all alone. When I can fully understand that, when I can finally let someone in and ask for help, I will be closer than I have ever been before. And I have hope that that day will come, because I am having a good day, because the writing has helped me and I can appreciate things right now and because I hope that other people can feel this kind of hope sometime, because we need it, we need the ‘maybe’ and we need to know we aren’t as alone in our feelings as we might think.