An Internal Conflict of Bravery


I spend a lot of time thinking about things I wish I could do. Minutes, hours, days, thinking about things. A plethora of things. Stuff and actions and activities I sure as hell could do, but don’t.

That’s the worst part, I think. To spend nights sleepless and class periods full of thoughts in a different world that I so desperately wish I could live in. A world where little me could have a big voice for those who are also small. A world where shy me could talk to anyone and bring smiles to the faces of those who are also shy. A world where my actions would be recognized by those I respect quietly for their actions. This is how I wish I could be.

I wish for that every scar that litters my body, someone would say something kind to another. I wish that I could show people how they hurt one another, even if they don’t realize. I wish I could stand up in class and say how I feel. But just the thought of speaking up so loudly makes me want to hide.
After so many years of wanting a voice that would make people listen, or a personality that is undeniably likable…I just shuffle nervously and fall silent.

This is a stupid, unrespectable, and idiotic essay that I wish I would stop writing. Unfortunately, I won’t stop writing. I will continue. Turning in an essay about how I feel is a brave act. Braver than scribbling graffiti on bathroom stalls about being kind, which is usually all I can muster.
When I cry, my girlfriend tries to comfort me. When I utter desperately, questioningly, “Why am I even crying?!” between bursts of tears, she tells me simply that crying is an act of bravery. She calms me down with kind words and tells me it’s an act of bravery. I tell her, using a colorful array of profanities, that crying is an emotional bludgeoning to the heart. Without fail, she explains to me how “brave and strong” I must be to let my emotions show so openly, to let tears flow from my eyes no matter who is watching. She speaks softly and smoothly, calmly defusing me.
“You are brave,” she tells me, smiling.
To be so raw and open must take some amount of strength I suppose.
But...that’s frustrating. And there are so many things I’d rather be doing and so many things I wish I could do. I wish I could express myself with the good in my heart instead of with sadness and pain.
Then again, I also wish I could skateboard and dye my hair purple and have time to read many books. I wish I could be strong and brave and make people smile or laugh.
I wish I could be so many of the things that I’m not. I wish I could be everything that I am not.
But it’s not that it must be so hard to be strong. It can’t be, right?

It’s always been a part of my ideal identity to be emotionally strong… But I think that emotional strength comes with time and pain, which is unfortunate.
Everyone must have things they wish they could do, I figure.
But in the end, I believe that what really separates the strong and the weak is how far one’s willing to go to experience the things that one dreams of. To be strong is to risk everything in the world and be prepared to see it all burn.
And you know what? I think I’m ready to see the flames.