T.S. Elliott is credited with saying ‘This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.’ I didn't understand that quote or why he named the poem ‘The Hollow Men’ until recently.
The reality, I have discovered, is that the truest pain, the truest hurt rips everything out of you. There is nothing poetic about that. There is nothing beautiful about the void, the desert that absolute suffering creates inside of you. There are times when the pain I feel is so immense that I want to rip my bones from my own body. I want to scream and sob for eternity, but nothing - absolutely nothing comes out. That is what he meant by despair. That is what he meant by the hollow men. And I am terrified of becoming one because my jaw feels broken, and my pain has blinded me. So I am desperately trying to find my voice, the voice that was taken from me, because I refuse to go gently, to go quietly into that good night.
I believe that there are hands out there searching for mine, no matter how broken mine might be. So I keep holding on, to hope, love, belief. Doesn't matter which one really, because I can’t see any of them. I still believe they are still out there. I believe those things will always save me. I believe that they, and I will continue to refuse to go quietly into the night, to rage against the dying light.
Remember every word I have said. That I will come back in time.