They ask questions. They will ask questions.

I want to make sure i give this one the attention it deserves. it's a bit heavy in a bit of a different way than the others. this one feels like it has less hope than the others. it makes me feel sad for younger maya. younger maya had almost no hope. younger maya really, truly, thought that it would never get better. from my first entry in march, and now this entry in September, i had gone through some really low lows and a bit less lows.

this entry feels a bit lower than the others.

let us, together, find the hope in it.

Entry 18 ~ 9/18/16 ~ 9:58 p.m

They ask questions. They will ask questions. And you want to answer them. You really do. But do you? Do you really? Yes. No. Yes. No. It’s a never ending battle within your soul, yourself and you. You want to tell them everything, yet you want to tell them nothing. All at the same time. And yet at no time. You have this built up. You have to get it off your chest. But who do you tell? Who do you trust? Who is capable of handling this information? Everyone and no one. No one and everyone. They all want to know, yet no one wants to listen. You feel like you could tell someone if they asked. But no one asks. And you will wait. You will. Until the right person asks the right question. But when will that person come? You are getting tired. You feel like you might tell someone. But you have to push it deeper. Where no one will find it. Ever. You don’t want them to find it. Right? Do you want them to find it? No. Yes. Maybe? It’s a never ending battle between you, yourself and you. You don’t and you do. You can’t decide.

You just want to go back. Back when it was simple. But was it ever really simple? Can you think of a time when it was simple? Does any moment come to mind? You thought that it was good, nice and simple when you were younger, but now, when you try to think of a moment, you can’t. But you can. You can. But do you want to? Is memory lane where you’re supposed to be? How do you know? That’s a good question. Memory lane will get you nowhere, because soon you will be looking at now and saying it was simple. Or will you agree and say that it wasn’t? You don’t know. That’s a question you ask yourself. It’s a good one. Is it one you want to answer? Or do you want to leave it alone? Both? Is that allowed? You want so badly to let it go. But it’s begging to be remembered. It’s begging to be remembered. And there is nothing you can do about that. You want to do something about it. But really, you don’t. You want to leave it alone. And never go back to those memories. But what if the right questions were asked and then answered? Not some bull filling. Actual answers. To any of your non-existent begging questions. Those ones. The ones you pretend to forget about-and then come out at night. The ones that disappear during the day and haunt you before bed. They’re never really gone. They are always there. At the back of your mind. The back of your head while you were distracted. Your mind was alive and well. Full of the questions.

The thoughts.

They never leave you.

Did you believe that they did?

Did you fall for that coup?

Did you?

Well, if you did, it wasn’t real. None of it. But you still have these unreal questions and thoughts. You know that they’re real. But are they? Yes. No. You don’t know. Will you ever? Another question that will never be answered while you are still alive. Add that to the list. Will any of these questions be answered while you are still alive? Will they? You ask yourself. It will forever be unanswered until you no longer exist on this earth. But isn’t that what it’s all about? Is it? That’s not the satisfying answer you wanted. What were you expecting? To be told, that in the next year that it will become simple again? That these questions and thoughts will be gone? Just like that? That at night, these questions won’t still be haunting you?

That’s the simple question.

And there are only complicated answers.

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this entry feels a bit lower than the others.

let us, together, find the hope in it.

this one at first is about feeling like i wanted to tell someone what i was feeling. and i was wrestling with that. for so long, i had been set on course to never mention my pain to anyone, ever. it's almost like i am disappointed in my self for wanting to tell someone. and in the end, i persuaded myself not to say anything. how sad.

before answering the question about whether i am going to tell someone about what it is i am talking about, i switch topics. i don't think on purpose i think i couldn't answer that question because i simply didn't know the answer.

I switched topics to talking about a simpler time. then, instead of explaining how my youth could be a time to look back on in happiness- I question those memories. it seems to me, that i am talking about memories and thoughts as one. memories and thoughts i don't want to give space in my brain, but ones that demand to take up all of the space.

the last bit is asking if i will ever know the answers to all of these questions. usually, in my other entries, there would be a feeble attempt at finding the silver lining, or at least the grey lining.

this one ends on a sad note, and i want to make sure that you know-that you know, there is hope. there is always hope. even if you can't feel it, or see it, or hear it-there is always, there is always hope.

this old maya, or rather, young maya- knew less about the world. knew less about people, less about herself. this younger maya didn't know. she didn't know. how can we blame her for something she didn't know.

What didn't she know?

That there is always hope.

And so,

No one is blaming you. Don't blame yourself. Don't blame yourself.

Find a counselor. Talk to someone you trust.

Find someone to trust. Find out how to find someone to trust.

You got this.