Courage to Continue
“Success is not final; failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”
-Winston Churchill
That week seemed to last forever. I did all the things. Cleaned, deep cleaned, cleaned out closets, organized closets, refolded linens, cleaned out cabinets and pantries, obsessed over expiration dates, folded and perfectly placed the throw blankets and pillows on all the couches. I repeated this until I realized this was absolutely the true definition of insanity at its finest. Was I losing my mind? Why were my thoughts so intrusive and dark? Did I really have nothing left to live for? Was this MY failure? We just became the epitome of a cliché, many clichés. I have a tattoo of our family's crest motto "vi et animo" Latin for 'by strength and courage.' I chose its placement on my left wrist so that it would always be visible to me. Where was my strength? Where was my courage? Did I possess any of either? I would lose myself in music, the silence has never been a friend. I don't recall what I listened to, which is odd. I can otherwise pinpoint moments in my life by a song, like others do with a scent. It was there, but the melodies and words escape me now. Probably for the better, that time would have marred a lot of songs. It was Zannie that really kept the world turning. The nights turned into days, and days back into nights. The world really was going on no matter what it felt like in my head and heart. I lived another day. I lived another week. But will I survive this?
That week seemed to last forever. I did all the things. Cleaned, deep cleaned, cleaned out closets, organized closets, refolded linens, cleaned out cabinets and pantries, obsessed over expiration dates, folded and perfectly placed the throw blankets and pillows on all the couches. I repeated this until I realized this was absolutely the true definition of insanity at its finest. Was I losing my mind? Why were my thoughts so intrusive and dark? Did I really have nothing left to live for? Was this MY failure? We just became the epitome of a cliché, many clichés. I have a tattoo of our family's crest motto "vi et animo" Latin for 'by strength and courage.' I chose its placement on my left wrist so that it would always be visible to me. Where was my strength? Where was my courage? Did I possess any of either? I would lose myself in music, the silence has never been a friend. I don't recall what I listened to, which is odd. I can otherwise pinpoint moments in my life by a song, like others do with a scent. It was there, but the melodies and words escape me now. Probably for the better, that time would have marred a lot of songs. It was Zannie that really kept the world turning. The nights turned into days, and days back into nights. The world really was going on no matter what it felt like in my head and heart. I lived another day. I lived another week. But will I survive this?
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