I realized while driving today that the reason I could never finish my stories when I was younger was because I Didn't Know how they ended.
I was processing the only way I knew how, and I couldn't see what the other side would bring.
What happens when everyone you love has turned against you and you make it to the other side and find joy? Do you find joy?
What happens when the people who are meant to protect and love you choose addiction and discord and hate and you survive anyway? Can the version that survives even be called you anymore? Do you cave to the pull of the dark as well?
What happens when you stand against the evils you face and are surrounded with and are expected to comply with and it means breaking off from all you've known?
Is there truly hope on the other side? What could that look like? When you're in the midst of the battle you just hope the battle ends, you don't know how to handle what the ending will bring. You don't know what chaos will be left in victory, you only know your armor is rent and your shield dented and no matter the outcome of this battle, you will be weary.
I couldn't write an ending because I refused to write something that did not end with hope - but I had no hope to give. I knew things would be different - I didn't know but that different would be worse, or if I could survive or thrive in the different.
There is hope. There is new love, new family, renewed faith on the other side of hate. There are mended relationships. There are blistering, festering holes where relationships used to be. But there IS hope. Agony does not win. The battle is over. Another rages. But you know there is hope now.