I Am More Than My Suffering

I’ve come to embrace suffering, not because it’s comforting, but because it feels inevitable. Life seems to wrap me in endless conflicts—love, friendship, family—all while pulling me deeper into a pit that feels bottomless. At the center of that pit, I find myself, questioning everything. Each misstep, each unfortunate event, seems to pull me further from the light of connection and deeper into the dark corners of my own mind.

I’ve become afraid—terrified, even—of putting myself out there again. The thought of giving my heart to someone, only to watch it shatter, feels unbearable. And yet, in my moments of reflection, I can still feel echoes of a past life—a life where I gave love freely, willingly, with excitement and care. But now, instead of joy, those memories bring agony. I remember believing, truly believing, that they were all I could ever need. How could I have placed so much weight, so much pressure, on one person? It was too much—for them, for me—and when it all collapsed, it brought me to my knees.

In that moment, I felt the crushing weight of existence, bending and twisting me until I became something unrecognizable. It was as though I had turned into a black hole, swallowing every bit of light around me. I wanted to escape, to run from the suffocating darkness of my own mind. But no light—no one else’s light—could reach me.

And then, suddenly, I saw it. Not a light from the surface or from someone else, but from deep within me. Faint, but pure. A tiny flame.

It flickered quietly, waiting. That flame is me—the part of me that refuses to be extinguished, no matter how heavy the darkness becomes. It’s not strong, not yet, but it’s there. I realize now that this light isn’t something I need to chase or find in others. It’s something I have to nurture within myself. It’s the part of me that still believes in love, still believes in connection, even after everything.

This flame reminds me that I’m more than my suffering. Even though I’ve been broken, even though the weight of my past feels inescapable, I am still here. That faint light, that tiny spark, is proof that I haven’t been consumed entirely. And maybe, just maybe, it’s enough to guide me back to myself.