Do you ever catch yourself doing something mindless, and then wonder why you were doing it to begin with? I caught myself staring at some scars on my hands. As my mind wandered through the invisible realms of a thousand places, the thought hit me like a ton of bricks.
They had become ordinary.
But the story attached their creation was far from. I realized then, that there were other unseen scars - scars written on the wall of my heart - that had also become ordinary. When their creation had (many times) been the unexpected ending of a part me. My scars were the story about the story.
The telling of all that is that I've become.
Mine is the story of the unexpected endings. For as many pages that have remained in my journal, just as many pages have been ripped out. As many mountain tops I've climbed, there were as many valleys waiting for me on the other side.
One thing that never gets easier in life, is telling the stories of your failures. It's not pretty, it never is. It's not romantic, it's not edifying, it's not sunshine and rainbows. It's dirty, ugly, and anti-climatic. It goes against the narrative of every social media / Insta-perfect-gram post. It's the crap that hits the dirt that becomes the fertilizer of all that grows. I've never been inspired to tell a story about the dark side of me. I'm not into the attention seeking, pity-party, grief celebrity whoring out of myself (just saying), just to catch a few superficial "likes". Because what I've gone through is for me. It's between my tenacity to never give up and God that empowers that same ability.
It's normal to wear your best face out. And perhaps I speak for more than myself when I say, the moments where the pain was worst, were the moments where no one knew the pain exist. It's in the dark recess of isolation, where your tears are the only comfort of touch, as they splash off your cold skin. The intangible voice inside you screaming for some kind of understanding - some kind of relief. Desperate for a moment of comfort that never seems to come. When time seems to enjoy taking its time, while you lay alone in your agony, just waiting to find out if tomorrow will be any less painful than today.
The world is a harsh place. It seems to take pride in tempting you with all that you feel you were created for, only to go nuclear when you thought everything was going to work out (this time).
Whether you call it fate, the devil, or bad luck - I've been left scavenging the ashes of my heart, and the fragments of my (once) identity-now-lost. And as the ash sift through my hands, all that remains is the reflection of a question that reverberated in my soul - why?
I've been the laugh on the other end of a harsh joke. I've fallen face first into the circus of fools. I've gambled it all in a game of Russian Roulette of the heart. Only to tally another scar on the wall of my weather-worn heart. I've betrayed myself at the expense of helping someone else dig their souls dark grave. I've poured the best of myself into bottomless vessels. I've thrown my heart in front of the oncoming disaster, to save another heart that never wanted to be rescued. I've devalued the best treasure I've had, and fed it to wolves that gave me temporary satisfaction. I've walked the walk, talked the talk, pretended, worn the façade, and put on some great masquerades. All at the expense of losing the beauty of myself of course. I've created unexpected endings for someone else.
Life is the unforgiving book about learning and growing due to unexpected endings.
It's too bad that perfection thing never worked out for me. It was "oh so promising". I had a hard time hiding all of my imperfections. If you don't see them etched into my body, you will catch a glimpse of them expressed in my being.
So, what's the moral of this dark story?
Sometimes, the unexpected endings are the best things that ever happen. The unexpected ending of myself paved way for the discovery of someone else; someone real, someone human, someone willing to live their truth. The truth that was given to me the day my soul was injected into this body, and this body birthed into this world. The truth that cannot be stolen, because I came from the source of all that is, that defines all that truth is.
Sometimes, unexpected endings destroy the illusions of love and dreams that never had a chance of standing the test of time. So that the paths could clear for a love and dream that could become legendary.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and what ends unexpectedly is often the launching pad of a greater story. Not because the pain wasn't a brutal price to pay. Nor to undermine the vicious reality that tried to destroy you. But rather, that this word called hope is real, it exists, and it persists.
The reality is - my story is many ugly scars deep. Life is good at showing me how broken I am. But it has also done well in teaching me that I am my own worst enemy.
Perhaps the greatest lesson it has taught me in all of my unexpected endings, is that nothing is impossible if you can dig deep enough to believe. And in that belief there is hope. And in that hope is the greatest force of any change - love.
No matter what the unexpected has in store for me, I'll only be defined by the choice I make. To fear or love. And as I glance at these scars of mine one more time, I see the beauty they portray. Without them, I wouldn't know what love is. I wouldn't know what hope is. And I wouldn't know what I've become, to know what I am here to give. That love is the greatest unexpected ending of all, as it closes the dark doors on unexpected endings of the past.