Blog

Beauthentic

You can either be beautiful or authentic. Be one, but please still strive to be the other. Because when both collide and form a fusion, it furthers and deepens what they are. Be beauthentic.

I really want to be those things. I really want to share the rambles of my mind and I do not want to waste what I have to say. I believe that everyone has an experience or a message worth sharing; something that could create connection and further compassion with the world. Some of these truths are ugly and confronting, and therefore some are beautiful because they are both.

I have been creating, writing and scrapping blogs, diaries and novels all my life. I have never finished a notebook, endured a long-lasting blog or finished writing a book. Part of the reason is because I have always struggled with forming words due to a past speech impediment and learning disorder, partly because I am incredibly impatient and easily distracted, and lastly because of fear. Fear of judgement, fear of inadequacy, fear of failing. I think we can all relate to that, at least to some degree.

I have many goals at the moment. I hope that at least some of them will be achieved – I do know I will do my best to at least try. One of these goals is to write. I want to finally leave the story I tell myself that I am “bad with words,” because despite the fact that I stutter sometimes, or it takes me a bit longer to form the sentences that are abstractly born in my mind, or that I can hardly speak when faced with social anxiety… Despite all these things or the fact that it took me a couple more years longer to learn how to speak, write and read than most, I CAN speak, write and read, and damnit, while I may make mistakes sometimes, I actually am good at it! It’s hard for me to even write that, but I think it’s true.

Because I’m trying to pursue this goal of writing and of learning to be proud of my words, I have started a blog (again!) and while there may be hiatuses and shitty entries over its life, I am going to try to prove to myself that I can be authentic, maybe even beautiful, with my words and with what I write.

The Simple Idea

The next two weeks after a night of undiluted fear, would see my most extreme experience of change and growth. A few days before the fortnight ended, one drop of empathy and an added thought remodelled my entire outlook and dreaded story. As I reflect on this experience on its first anniversary, I remember details that I left behind in those confronting enclosed rooms of a hospital hiding as a home. The countless meetings with doctors who were only intelligent in their understanding of medicine, but not in humans, seemed to make my situation even more hopeless. Soon they grew tired of employing a bodyguard to eye an adolescent, so I was given a bed three hours away in Melbourne and there I arrived as a puddle in my boots, ridden with just more fear.

The teenagers there bore similarities to the previous patients, but the difference was in me. For the first time I opened myself to their offers of connection, because these people understood, and at that time that was all that mattered. And through sharing my compassion and empathy for their stories, I learnt to be compassionate and empathetic to mine. I drew almost obsessively in those unending hours, connecting to myself visually and therapeutically in ways I could not yet wrestle with words.

The most monumental moment was in the white sheets of a stiff bed, when my family visited me and I saw my sister cry in a too familiar fashion of defeat. This mirror did not shatter, but instead it did the shattering and I decided at that moment that if not for me, but for them, I will try my best to keep on living. And as though I was cementing this promise, I scribbled on my already defaced bathroom walls, the words, ‘It is ok to not be ok.’ This was an idea that was simple and obvious enough, but it took the weights off my shoulders. It allowed me to stand straight for the first time in my life, as I realised that my depression, my emotions, my state of being is not only allowed, but accepted within me.

Here comes the true struggle; a lifelong promise… My devotion to fill in the cracks.