The Unknown and I

Effort requires no talent, only the courage to be seen.

The absolute terror of The Unknown leans over me every night, and watches me sleep.

She used to fill my lungs with my exhaled breaths, until my stomach was filled with a tense, uneasy abyss I could never see the bottom of.

She would seep into my dreams, and twist them into distorted, mangled versions of humiliation. Night after night, my dreamworld morphed into the same cruel vision: my world perfectly formed, then instantly evaporating into mist. I’d whirl in panic as my precious illusions flickered out, and a ring of cracked mirrors would rise around me. From their blackened panes spilled that wicked, echoing laughter; cold, triumphant, all consuming, like she lived inside of my soul.

I screamed in terror, but the sound didnt ripple outward, it turned inward, coiling around me, locking me inside a tightening shell. I shrieked with a sound that burned my ears, the soundwaves reverberated inside and propelled me into a violent whiplash I couldn’t escape. I took my fists and battered the walls, I flailed and kicked, but the walls kept growing darker, my screams used against me, and my vision faded into pure darkness as the black, cackling mirrors bellowed loudly in my ears.

I feverishly searched within myself for the answer, the key to unlock this suffocating nightmare. I pleaded with myself to dig farther, deeper, to grab hold of that molten dream simmering in my core. Why couldn’t I harness that heat to shatter the cloud? Why couldn’t I ride the wave of my own potential and escape? It was maddening: I could feel my dreams rising, swelling painfully within me, threatening to burst, but the harder I fought, the further away freedom slipped. My desperation grew unbearable; every ounce of effort felt like fighting quicksand. And all the while, The Unknown giggled softly, tightening her grip, choking off the cries that haunted my sleep, smiling as I writhed and struggled helplessly against myself.

If I gave in, I felt certain I would die, but if I kept fighting, I knew I'd perish anyway. I couldn’t win, there was no way out. I was exhausted, unkempt, and small, reduced to a veil of myself. My visions came back inside the shell but now they were worse than before, and I watched helplessly as my life played out on a screen whose colors faded slowly to an ashen gray. I pleaded for the colors to remain, but my voice barely carried. The woman on screen moved forward, blissfully unaware of the desperate creature fighting for her life just beyond the glass. She couldn’t see me, couldn’t feel me. Maybe it was never me, at all. Maybe the dreams I chased were never mine at all. Maybe I had fallen in love with an illusion I'd conjured; a creature enchanted by her own reflection, blind to the fact that the image staring back would never survive outside of the dream.

This thought hit me like a tsunami of grief, and suddenly, I stopped. My limbs, raw from battering the oppressive veil, fell limp. I realized something for the first time, so clearly i felt like it sliced through my eyes to reveal itself to me: if I was not enough, right now, then I never will be. If I don’t have the courage to conjure my dreams into reality, if I was crushed by the weight of my own shame, I will be trapped in here forever. Fear wouldn't shatter these walls. All at once, I surrendered, frightened by the relief I felt, terrified I was slipping toward mediocrity. Don’t you have to brutalize yourself to turn yourself great? Isn’t that the trade-off, the relentless push for more, at the cost of one’s self? Slowly, strangely, and to my great confusion, the fog finally began to clear.

I rubbed my eyes to make sure this vision wasn't another cruel illusion, was my mind playing tricks on me again? Without the ice-cold grip of Perfectionism holding my throat, guiding me harshly and without mercy, could it be that clarity itself was mediocre? Had I lost the edge required for magnificence, fooled by the comfort of something softer?

Hesitantly, I reached toward the swirling orb that had wrapped me in my sleepless nights, bracing for the familiar bruising thud of an impenetrable wall. But this time, as my fingers pressed forward, uncertain and timid, yet strangely curious, the wall softened. The shell cracked open, letting the faintest sliver of light leak through.

I waited anxiously. Would the crack widen on its own, or would I need brute strength and unwavering focus to break free? The longer I waited the more anxious I felt, nothing happened. The light had stilled. With shaking hands, I pressed again, and the light grew brighter, offering small gifts of courage and shards of confidence that I slowly gathered and pieced together. Each day, I pressed. Each day, my orb was brighter. Then, one night, I looked around and saw the fog had almost fully lifted, I could nearly see the stars, the haze was almost gone.

I learned something: effort requires no talent. There is no "right" way. For all of my plotting and scheming and self-mutilation in pursuit of perfection, it brought me nothing in return. I thought there would be a moment, a grand climax, where I finally reached my fullest potential and became The Black Swan, tasting the ecstatic, fleeting high of perfection. But I was wrong. I had to sit with my sadness, my confusion, my nightmares. I had to come to them without judgement and scorn, I had to sit with my devils as if they were my friends. I was so afraid, so embarrassed, and no matter how long I screamed, nothing broke through — the void I bellowed into was an echo chamber of my own creation, a feedback loop that possessed me and watched me as I ate myself alive just to retch everything back up and dissect it all over again.

To move forward, I must be willing to be seen however I appear. Embarrassment is improvements greatest enemy. I must fall backwards, forwards, until I discover the magnetic balance that keeps me upright. My cocoon won’t just shrink, it will expand, it will allow me to be reformed into whatever I have the courage to be.

The Unknown still lingers over my bed. She watches with sleepless eyes, matching each breath to my heartbeat, keeping time with my pulse. But now I realize something I hadn’t before, I know why she watches me. To her, I am the unknown, too. And if she doesn’t fear me, then I have no reason to fear what she brings. I realize now that I was always meant to meet myself in this darkness, not as a punishment, but as a gift. The Unknown is no longer my enemy; she is my reflection, my guide, and my greatest companion. I reach out into the darkness, extending the hand I cannot yet see, and offer it to her in friendship.

I will stand calmly at the edge of the void, where the staircase ends and destiny begins. I await my arrival with high spirits and bold desires. I cannot see where I will land, but I am certain I will. I do not need to see the next step to know it is already there.

My name is Alexandra Diana, and I bring my imagination to life.