No Words Left to Say

Whenever I recover from my depression, I stop writing.
Because I have nothing left to say.

Just a couple of years ago, I was flailing at the edge between life and death. And now, I still can’t believe I’ve finally come to live the ordinary life I once so desperately longed for.

The three years I spent in Germany were the most difficult period of my life.

I carried my past with me all the way here, along with the inhumane treatment I had endured. Pain that no one else could possibly understand.

But all suffering, no matter how great, is powerless in the face of time and effort.

I don’t have the strength or the right to control how others behave.
But I can choose how much of that pain I let into my heart. And that is an incredible power.

If I use that power to actively pursue happiness, then happiness, eventually, will come.
That’s all there is to it.