For the longest time, I listened to the hollow, yet inescapable, taunts of the creepy voice in my head that persistently told me I wouldn’t live past the age of 26. Strange as it were, I never went a day without it nagging and pestering me, insisting that my last breath was as near and as close as 26.
My mind was so engulfed by this voice, reminding me at every turn that all hope was lost, that every step I took towards the future was futile, and that my will to live was pointless. Like clock work, every single time I failed at something, this voice was there, itching to remind me of my impending death, as though it were a justified consolation.
If I excelled at anything, it was somehow empowered to tear down and erode the already feeble structures of my hope; the dwindling remains of any belief I had in my ability to achieve just one more victory in my future. If I strived to be better in any way, it mocked my efforts and coloured them worthless – as pointless as eternity.
I started to believe this voice. I couldn’t escape it. Everything was in vain. I was downtrodden.
But then one random day, my diseased mind recalled an older and more familiar voice from its past. A voice that always spoke to my mind with the warmth of a nursing mother, that rang with the kind wisdom of the ancients and inspired hope with the gentlest love and understanding. A voice I had learnt to distinguish from all others, because I could forever count on it to show me unending grace and undying love. A voice whose depths I could blindly leap into and trust that I would glide safely into a comfortable future, like a feather carried up by the wind and still landing softly, onto firm ground – unharmed.
I sat at the feet of this voice as it taught me from the endless depths of its wisdom to practice the frequent anticipation of good news; to approach each coming day with renewed hope and contentment, always knowing and trusting that the best is yet to come; to always show myself an abundance of grace by constantly recalibrating my thoughts to lead with empathy for myself and others; to know that every time I embrace weakness, I take another leap towards freedom; and to know and trust that my mind, soul and body were about to experience a greater sense of clarity and understanding of their worth.
I chose to believe this voice instead. I believe it now.
This is the truth that reigns supreme in the trenches of my diseased mind. This is the voice that silences the chants of death, rendering them a fading, distant memory – overridden by hope.
Today, I turn 26 and still battle a diseased mind. Be that as it may, I am no longer under its rule, nor am I its adversary, because in learning to embrace weakness, I embraced my diseased mind, thereby embracing myself. Though I still experience profound sadness and anger, I am no longer constantly in agonising conflict with myself, but instead, give my mind more grace to feel freely and without judgement.
So I commend these voices. They both came from within me and said their piece; one setting out to discourage and destroy and the other to inspire and create, yet both a major part of me. In the end, my love for self has stood tall. I’m okay.
This is 26.