It starts with an increasing sensitivity to the slightest of criticisms. Gradually, these criticisms sink in, deeper into the skin, till they become a part of your identity, taking the shape of insecurities. Then, enter the vicious circle, where with every insecurity forming, more criticisms are taken to heart, and who you are becomes more distorted, more deformed. Every slight, every insult stays right there in your skin like scars; never fading, always ugly.
They don’t go away, when you try to get rid of them.
They won’t go away.
Unless someone else intervenes, and makes you believe in your beautiful self again; that you can shed this skin so full of scars.
Life, at it’s happiest, is about how many accolades you have accumulated, how many friends you have (and trust), how much wealth you have, how you have made someone else believe and love themselves.
Life, at it’s worst, is this – all of your peaks of successes have turned to invisible dust; friends who try to love you but have stopped understanding you; wealth doesn’t seem to matter; nobody, and least of all, you cease to believe in yourself.
That’s what you’re really left with at the end of your worst day.
So, don’t assume someone had it easy in their life. Maybe that was true, once upon a time, when happiness blinded them.
Life’s become about battling your demons every day, going to bed feeling relieved they haven’t taken control over you and your everyday actions.
Today, there are flowers on the head, and demons in the head.