TFDOTROML
2026-01-23
This morning, I've been meditating on new beginnings.
I remember a few years ago, before my first psychiatric hospitalization, learning the actual etymology of the word "apocalypse." Culturally, people conflate "apocalypse" and "Armageddon". They often think that both are synonymous for a catastrophic end-of-times event. However, "apocalypse" is a different word. "Apocalypse" means "revelation" or "disclosure" and was a genre of literature at the time of early Christianity. Of course, the biblical Book of Revelation is the most famous in this genre. However, there's often greater emphasis on the struggles told in that disclosure, not solely the prophesied outcome. We all know the story of the Lake of Fire, the Antichrist, and the final spiritual battle that will commence.
Armageddon.
However, people don't often focus on how that battle ends. We're told that the world will be made new and that the life we so desire, the everlasting one, will be given to us through the grace of God. The world will be made new. We will achieve theosis. Today, we see the increasing popularization of a different false ending. We hear phrases like “nuclear Armageddon” and consider the potential extermination of humanity, and we think this is true Armageddon. Unfortunately, this fear stems from an increased lack of faith among humanity. With the rise of atheism and secular humanism, it has become easier to convince ourselves that we are truly alone in this universe. The pale blue dot rests in a sea of black and sees itself as an accident.
Thankfully, we know that's not true.
I look on how I've been handling things recently, particularly my abstinence from my vices, and understand that while it might not feel that way in a sober mind, there is a deep and almost imperceptible spiritual battle happening. I feel a distinct tension that is different from physical ones. I have withdrawals that I'm going through and I can feel them, but there is a war being fought in my mind that is much more constant and draining. I have to think my actions through, and it's hard to keep myself safe from temptation and evil.
Still, I know that it's important to go through this personal Armageddon, as it were. At the end of this battle, something will be made anew. I will feel it when it comes, and I'll come to understand why it all had to go the way it did. However, I'm still in the throes of it at this moment. This writing is my earthly meditation on the battle that I can't see—yet I fight it every moment.
I recently read something that struck me. People who read personal stories by those who have been suicidal don’t spiral deeper into suicidal ideation. I’ve struggled with understanding the point of Cogito—of writing these entries every day. I'll ask myself "Well, why do I feel like writing this? Why does it feel like this is the only thing I can write?" Well, I figured it out. Here's a quote from the article:
"Reading stories written by people who have lived through suicidal thoughts or survived suicide attempts made people feel more hopeful about their own future, and hopefully reminded them that no matter how alone suicidal thoughts can make you feel, other people experience them, too."
I remembered my second C: connection. Somewhere, either now or later on, someone will come across this blog and feel what I've felt. They'll feel it and know that they can make it. So while I fight my own battles, I can know that every day I come here is a victory. This isn't for me. I have to stay strong for you.
It's the first day of the rest of my life.