Hope House

The wind blows in over the grass; warm as the sun is bright. You can feel the crisp breeze flow over your shoulders. The ground is cold beneath your bare and dirty feet, you’ve been running for what seems like decades. Your breathing starts to match the rhythmic beat of the rustling trees behind you. The sun setting and painting the sky in beautiful hues of grey and black. It cast a perfect backdrop for the country home you are face to face with.

The house is painted ivory, but its worn so you can see the natural wood peeking throughout the building. There’s a wrap around porch, and a classic porch swing out front. Beautiful baby grey shutters on all the windows, almost matching the sky. As you slowly walk forward, her details are better seen. The cracks in the paint, the worn in steps of the people who would approach her. You smile as you notice the ridges in the wood where two rocking chairs had been. Tears sting your eyes, as you reminisce of the love this porch has seen. You push the front door open, and the sun from the kitchen spills into the hallway.

Typical house really, small entry way with the living room to the left and an extra room to the right. straight ahead on the right was the stair case in the same hall that lead to the kitchen full of sunshine. A lot of the windows are broken, and the dust on the floor is almost thick enough to be a first snow. You make a quick tour of the downstairs, running your hand across anything and everything. So much life was held in these four walls, so many things dreamed up here it was so overwhelming.

As you make your way back to the front entry way you make your way up the stairs, and your heart beat picks up her pace. you make your way down the short hall to the right to the room at the end of the hall. This room is different, even in the small hallway. It looks a deeper, dirtier white then the rest of the house. Your heart is making its way up to your throat.

And here you are. Face to face with this door, your heart beating in your ears, your hands sweaty and shaky as you brush the cobb webs away from the knob to turn it. This is the moment you have waited for, you have ran all this way, you have tracked it down, and now in front of you, in this dark room, it lies on the floor.

The tears that had stung your eyes, now fall down your cheeks. T-shirt soaked in tears and sweat. You move your legs, even though you cant feel them and your heartbeat is almost deafening.

On the floor lies the most beautiful little girl. She has curls that Shirley Temple couldn’t touch, shiny black like fresh polished shoes. Her skin gorgeous and glowing, the only light in this whole room, her breathing constant but soft. You fall to your knees in front of her and quickly snatch her up to your chest. The tears flow more freely…

You see, this girl is you. She is your hopes, your dreams, your happiness. she is everything pure and lovely about you, she is the color to your world. But you put her in this room and told her not to move when depression began to take over your mind.

Depression painting everything in blacks and greys, taking the taste of food right out of your mouth. Making your sleep unpredictable, thus making you its slave. You hid her, to save her. But its been almost 3 years and you weren’t sure if she would even be alive.


But that’s the beauty of hope…you cannot kill it, only misplace it.


And as you cry in the middle of the room you can feel the shift in the atmosphere, and she’s gone. At first you’re frightened, but then you notice them. One by one, the names coming back to your mind as they become vivid. Magenta, lilac, lavender, tangerine, colors of sky outside your window. Tears well up as you realize your body feeling full, your heart over flowing and your mind trying to keep up. You are you, and that’s all you’ve ever wanted…

 

 

 

Hello, my  name is Stephanie and I’m 22 years old and run this blog. I’ve struggled for a while on what to write next and realized this story has been one I visit often in my own mind. I wanted to share it and I wanted to say a few things…

Everyday is a battle, sometimes I get away from myself, and I must go searching for her again. Sometimes this is in the form of moving, changing jobs but every time I find her – just as beautiful as before. Currently in my life, depression is winning. And that’s OK. Sometimes I’m too tired to find her, sometimes I’m too hurt to pick myself off the ground, but I always find her. The point is that you never give up, and do what makes you – you!

Want some more info on depression or mental health? Buzzfeed is doing an awesome compilation of videos that are dealing with an array of mental health issues and I was inspired to write this.  So be sure to subscribe to them on YouTube!

 

 

 

Follow me on the gram (steph.toro) or on Facebook (Heart Hid Words has its own page!)

 

 

 

The Art of War

Disclaimer: if this post seems pointy, that’s because it is.

What is the number one flaw of the human being? Not his body, not his mind, but what is it that paints him as flawed? Desire. Desire in and of itself is not bad, but what is desired is.

What do Adam, Eve, Hitler, Bush, and the Pope all have in common? A desire for power.

So you see, everyone – even you and I – have this desire for power. We want to be better than the lady down the street, we want to know this person will be there when we need them, we want our voices heard, and we want as much power as we can get.

Really, it isn’t a bad flaw to have if kept in check. Having the ability to control something can be great but it can also be deadly.

Now why is this titled The Art of War. Well, its simple, war is about who currently has power and who wants to take it. And like everything in this life, there is a strategy to war. In order to be successful one must have the upper hand on the leader, you have to know them, their thoughts, their patterns. After you know them, you can always be one step ahead of them, that is how you win war. It truly is an art form.

Okay, Stephanie, what does this have to do with you? Well that’s where things get pointy. Some of you have felt the need to take it upon yourself to express the “imagined” power you have over me. Some of you really truly believe you know me, and know my next move. When in reality, you know only as much as I want you to. I’m writing this blog because I am fed up being a prisoner of war to people like you.

You don’t know me

Sure you may know the things I like, you may know the things I have told you but you don’t know me. None of you do, because a POW’s only job is to survive against all odds. Until you’ve walked in my shoes, you cant tell me anything.

Until you know what its like to be violated in ways unthinkable

Until you know what its like to carry your family on your back

Until you know what its like to be disowned and thrown out

Until you know what its like to hate yourself everyday

Until you know what its like to be popular one second and all alone the next

Until you know what it feels like to want to take your life

Until  you know what its like to be me

You have no right to tell me anything.

No right whatsoever. I’m not a charity case, I’m not your inbox of advice so you can sleep well at night, I’m not an ignorant person who knows nothing about life, I am a survivor. I don’t need your scriptures, I don’t need your texted sermons, I know what you’re going to say before you say it.

My problem is not with God or with His Gospel. My problem is the Bible says to work out my salvation with fear and trembling and yet you seem to think you have the upper hand in my journey. You seem to think you hold the key to my freedom, you seem to think you have the power to make a difference in my life.

And that’s silly, because you don’t have any power over me.

So make me a deal okay?

Trust me to walk this journey or see yourself out of it.

I will no longer be a prisoner of war,

I will survive

I will triumph – with or without you.