“I’m trying, to change, to grow in spite of everything that makes me feel like I want to die.” ~me, 4th dec 2017

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now the calendar’s just one page

It’s the first of December today and it’s going to be a blink of an eye before 2018 rolls around, and I can’t help but feel like it passes so quickly. Yes, it’s so cliche and I say this every year, but it really does, and it makes me scared. I feel like I *just* relapsed but I actually relapsed in May, which means more than half the year was spent in this relapse, which yielded.. nothing. I’m at the same weight as I was before the relapse, but is that even a surprise anymore? I’ve been considering recovery, and yet, it feels like there are so many things in my way, I don’t know if I can do it. Do I want to fight? I don’t know. What do I want my 2018 to be? More relapse? More trying to lose weight? More obsessions and messed up eating and hiding in toilets purging? More isolating myself? It’s not a choice of course, but at this point it feels like this disorder is a part of me, a part of my lifestyle, and even if I wanted to change, it’s not that easy. Just like with depression, I’ve probably spent most of this year (and the 4 years before) in depression.. not that I know what life without depression is like anyway.

Time is flying by, and it makes me scared and sad. I want to make the most of the time I have now with these people around me, in this school, with my family- before everything changes. I was freaking out about turning 18 and look, now I’m turning 19 in 3 months. That’s insane. I mean, we’re going into our final year and then graduating soon, that’s insane as well. If I had a choice, I would want to do it all over again, I would want to put myself out there more, I would want to get to know my classmates more, spend more time with my friends. I would want to volunteer more, work more, do more. But alas, it feels like my life isn’t dictated by important events like everyone else, it’s dictated by the state of my mental health, dictated by what I was eating or not eating, how much I weigh. When I think about 2017, certain periods of time stand out to me, mostly the times I was really restrictive.. and I’m not sure why. Do I remember those periods better because I was doing better? Because I was more miserable? Or maybe those I just remember it better because it’s easy to recall- nothing mattered in my life but how much I ate and walked and exercised. Even now, it seems bittersweet, even now I miss it. And yet when I look at my instagram, there are the best moments of 2017- our devised drama performance, mine and clarissa’s 18th birthday, travelling to japan and seeing cherry blossoms/snow with mum, our finding fatin performance, the launch of lumiere, our family trip to Gold Coast. So much has happened, these amazing things that I loved, and yet what I remember most is the times when I was losing weight or eating x amount. I’m not surprised, but putting it this way.. it just seems sad.

I can look back and say I’ve come so far, in mental health, in life. I’ve survived. I cope better, I’ve learned, I’ve gotten through every bad day. I can count the number of times I self-harmed with two hands, I haven’t tried to kill myself or ended up in the hospital, I’m okay. And yet, most days I feel like the exact same person I was when I was younger, still chained by the same fears and same thought patterns and negative beliefs. I still feel inadequate in every way, still hurt that I will never be good enough, still hate myself, still isolate myself, still feel out of place, still struggle to rely on anyone emotionally or open up, still trying to lose weight and hoping that would be a magical solution, still triggered by family. I could go on. I feel like I’m not changing, and this hurts like hell to say. That despite every external change in my life, despite good times, despite times where my mental health was in a better place- ultimately I haven’t changed. I suppose this is why I always felt the ‘good times’ were temporary, the supposed ‘recovery’ was false because I never made any effort to actually recover, it was merely circumstantial that I was doing better. I haven’t changed, because I haven’t fought for it. Change isn’t just going to happen, not when we’re talking about years of beliefs and thought processes and mental illness. It hurts to think that I’m mentally and emotionally stuck here (even though I feel so stuck all. the. time.) and what if I’m stuck here for the next 5 years, or even the next year?

So now the calendar’s just one page, and there is nothing I can do about it. I can try to document moments as much as I want, try to record everything and take pictures and write, as I have, in fear that I wouldn’t make the most out of those precious moments. But what is the point of doing all that if I can’t even live in those moments? What’s the point, if all those amazing, heartwarming, filled-with-love moments pale in comparison to the times where I only ate half a bun on the day of my rehearsal or the mornings I woke up shivering (with no air-con) at the pre-u seminar, or the times when I was purging at 4am. I don’t even know what I’m writing this, because I’m not going to write this and then have a sudden realization that I should definitely make a change and recover and live life!! I feel like I should do that- be positive! and definitely recover! and be great at recovery and life!! (note: sarcasm). But you know, like what I learned in therapy, maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. I just thought of this, but what if I’m a perfectionist when it comes to life itself? When in fact, life isn’t going to be perfect and I’m not perfect. What if I have all of these ~grand expectations of what life is supposed to be like, this perfect little image of what I want life to be.. when the reality might never come close? The literal cause of my long-standing relapse/recovery tormenting internal battle wasn’t because I truly wanted recovery but because I felt like I should make the most out of life, I’d already wasted so much time after all. And even when I decided I actually wanted recovery earlier this week, I had all these expectations, and I felt like I was failing at everything, at recovery. I think I feel like life should be perfect, and if it’s not, I’m doing something wrong. And I wonder if that’s stopping me from getting better, because I’m scared I will never reach my expectations I have of myself and of life.

I remember talking about this in therapy, all these ‘I should‘ statements I have about.. everything (myself). I just didn’t realise I did that to life itself as well. ‘I should make the most out of every moment, I should live well, I should give the best I can at everything, I should be happy, I should chase my dreams.’ And those are not necessarily bad things, but maybe they are bad when they turn into self-imposed perfectionist expectations. Because I beat myself up for not ‘achieving’ those expectations and my brain works in such a black-and-white way that if I’m not achieving those expectations, I’m inadequate and might as well be in the depths of hell. You see, I always have all these goals and expectations, of myself and what I want for myself. Every new year, and even every month or week, I set out all these goals.. not necessarily realistic goals. So, what if I let go of that? Underneath all the things I feel like I should want or should do, what do I really want? It’s hit me that underneath all the things the disorder wants, underneath all my expectations, underneath every relentless voice in my head- I don’t know what I want. I haven’t ever made room for, well, me. Even if I chose to try to really recover, it’s not going to be perfect, and I’m going to have to accept that. So what if I chose to let go more? What if I’m try to not be so hard on myself? And I keep referencing therapy, but it feels like what we’ve talked about is just about finally clicking- mindfulness, taking a step back from the beliefs and voices so that there is room for me.

Looking at my new tattoo, the cherry blossoms.. it means to me that life is fleeting and we should make the most of it, but it’s also about mindfulness and living in the present. It’s not about the pursuit of the perfect life or perfect moments, it’s about living and appreciating. So maybe that should be it. Living. Accepting that it’s not going to be perfect because these negative thoughts are still crowding my mind, these fears and even this unbearably intense self-hatred, it’s going to be there. That I still very very much want to relapse, to be sick, because that means something to me, because I need it to cope. But I also want to be happy. Honoring my feelings and thoughts, both the good and bad. It’s never a clear cut recovery/relapse- nothing is going to be easy anyway, so what do I want? I guess I’ll figure it out as I go. I hope 2018 is kind to me, but more than anything, I hope maybe I could be kinder to me in 2018, that I could grow in 2018, really just.. grow. Change. Make the most out of therapy (my last year and a half? yikes) and make the most out of family time and make the most out of DADP, but really just taking it a day at a time. Remembering I’m trying the best I can, remembering there are people around me who care, remembering I don’t have to listen to every thought in my head, remembering there isn’t always a ‘right or wrong’ thing, that it’s great to fight for life and good things and recovery but it’s okay if I’m not. This isn’t a ‘positive recovery post’, but somehow I feel like with this post I have made progress, through honesty and acceptance. It’s.. different. Let’s see how December goes, now.

too much/ light

why is it so hard to be myself?

it seems like all my life i’ve been cutting myself up into pieces to fit into the boxes others create, throwing out the pieces they deem inadequate. too emotional, too unstable, too crazy, too impossible to understand in my parents’ eyes. not thin enough or talented enough or smart enough or cool enough or pretty enough for everyone else. and this little girl swallowed it all, turning these boxes into a self-imposed prison.

it’s not hard, not when you’ve always been alone. so painfully different.

when you spill and overflow in every direction, build the foundation of your soul upon feeling and intuition. when you see the world in a fundamentally different light. when you’re filled with too much to contain, too much pain and brokenness and darkness, too much love and life and light. you hold the world within your soul, a soul older and wiser than your years, a soul longing for life and growth and peace. you’re the kind of soul who wasn’t meant for half-hardheartedness, you love deeply and ache deeply care too much and think too much. you crave life, you live apologetically and fearlessly. you hold it all inside. prison turns into fear, and fear winds itself into chains that keep the door tightly shut.

prison turns into home, too.

so i continue to kill myself. slice away parts of my soul, turn the self-hatred into poison that runs in these veins, starve away life. i couldn’t stop if i wanted to- and i want to, so badly. I want to, and yet i find myself holding back, even when i try to allow myself to be. i rein myself in. too much. always too much, or not enough, i don’t know. 

taking away these chains would cause an explosion, and taking away this prison would take away home. too much. light can too, be blinding, when you’ve been in the darkness for so long.

why is being myself so painful?

someday i will find in it me to live again. i’m sorry i’m still scared. but i’m trying. i’m growing. i’m getting there.

home

She stretched out, leaned in

felt every inch of this body 

this home,

that’s become so alien

turned into a battlefield 

scars stay where love should be

a war, branded upon

she breathed in

out

she touched her soul once again 

looked upon the child still inside 

the multitudes that exist within her

right on the other side,

of paper thin walls 

close enough to break

one touch would let it all explode

let it all go.

she sees it, hauntingly close 

the answer is within, it has always been right here inside

there are mountains and galaxies

stories and magic, inside.

she wants to live

yet she turns away

quietly whispers

i’m sorry

i’m sorry for branding this war upon you

i’m sorry for turning home into hatred

i’m sorry I can’t find it in me to love you

to make peace, or find the courage to leave this illusion i’ve constructed 

i’m sorry I can’t come home,

not yet

thunderstorms

it’s pouring outside right now, the heaviest downpour I’ve seen in a while. perhaps it’s only apt, a storm to mourn Belle. it seems silly, but I think ever since that night I’ll always believe in the rain and it’s affinity to what’s going on in my life. the sky always seems to cry with me, and perhaps that in itself is comfort, as I let myself get lost in the sound of the raindrops. i’m a water sign after all, pisces, and that is where i’m in my element, find my comfort. nothing but the storms seem enough to adequately express how i feel, i remember every time i’ve cried alone, the storm outside mirroring the one inside. i suppose today is another one of those days. it’s a really heavy one tonight, not the peaceful kind of rain, but the storms that don’t seem to stop. the water is loud and continuous and abrasive, thunder roaring in the background. the sound of raindrops sharp and painful, the outside swirling and flooding everything in sight. not a single soul is out. and perhaps that’s more than enough to explain the state of this heart right now.

quicksand

It feels like I’m standing on quicksand 

again

/loss/abandonment/pain/

everything is slipping beneath me

and I just can’t seem to find my balance

can’t seem to find anythinganyone

to hold onto
or maybe I just refuse to

maybe I just can’t 

hands still scarred 

from the red hot embers

everythingeveryone

that’s walked away

/it hurts to hold

it hurts to need/


I wonder what it’s like for them

to have something solid to stand upon

something other than yourself

your walls

your demons

I wonder what it’s like for them

to live without a fundamental pain

without believing you

are wrong

your feelings are wrong

/you are a mistake/
Space between my heart wider than any galaxy

it can only take so much before it begins to shut down

build a defence

I wonder what it’s like to be normal 

to not live in push and pull

to have and to hold without fear

to feel, without shutting down
It’s a lonely existence here

I crawl out of the quicksand 

back onto solid ground 

constructed from numbers and loneliness 

and a fake sense of control

this is why you don’t let yourself feel

because then comes the pain

the quicksand

and it’s nobody else’s fault but yours
I create my own storms

and I don’t know how to get out

//
It hurts, having to deal with all of this. Are people sick of hearing about it yet? Is my therapist sick of it yet? Because I am. I am so sick of it. I am sick of myself and my brain and my stupid inability to just be normal. I can’t deal with relationships or feelings or emotional intimacy like a normal person. I can’t deal with anything like a normal human it seems. It’s always a push and pull and anxiety and self hatred and insecurity and fear and walls. I contradict myself and I fight myself and I can’t even change it if I wanted because I’ve been programmed this way for far too long. I feel like a robot that’s been put together badly, all the wrong parts in different places and falling apart. I feel so broken, not in a painful or melodramatic way, but as a matter of fact, like that’s just the way I am. What, am I supposed to blame my parents for making me this way? For rendering me unable to accept my emotions or myself, unable to cope with feelings, unable to love or ever feel loved? What am I supposed to do? Here I am, left with the craters of their mistakes /me/ and I have to somehow savage this on my own, fix myself.

I’m sick of having to try, I just end up a bigger mess than before. But then I know I need to try, because there is no other way and giving up or retreating to old habits gets me nowhere. I’ve tried that too many times and it doesn’t work. And yet, I’m tired. Does anyone even know how tiring it is to keep trying or how hard I’m even trying? Not just to keep going, no, I can survive- but trying to push myself and work on things I should work on and trying to be fucking happy (which is impossible it seems). It flows the same as the recovery / relapse struggle because this attachment & emotion struggle is v intertwined with my ED. I’m tired of struggling alone and I just want to retreat to my safe place. Alone. Funny how I feel lonely and abandoned and scared so it pushes me to be alone even more. Because people are scary and feelings are too much and the outside world is too much. I am too much. I’m starting to think if this is only the tip of the recovery iceberg and it’s this hard, then I don’t know if I want to deal with the real thing. 

“The sun during midday will light up the dark night. Night dreams of day Light dreams of darkness. But the ignorant sun will chase away the darkness… and burn the shadows, eventually burning itself.”~paprika 

Lost Time

Today, it just hit me that it’s almost October, and 2017 is coming to an end soon. I try not to think about it. Time. But the thoughts may or may not have already started swirling inside, brewing a hurricane.
Time. The thought of it always hurts and terrifies me. How do you find lost time? How does one begin to gather up all the pieces and put them together to form a coherent picture? Most of the time it’s like I exist in a different realm altogether, defying the laws of time and space and everyone else. How do you put together a timeline when everything seems to jump from one moment to another, when you seem to live in parallel dimensions between the real world and inside your head? Time seems to slip away more quickly than ever. It doesn’t matter how tightly I try to hold on, or how many moments I try to savour. The grains of sand and time continue trickling down, down, down.
I haven’t quite grasped the concept of time, it’s fluid nature or the way it seems to bend and stretch and disappear as it pleases. I’m not scared of fluidity or uncertainty or death, I’m not scared of the concept of my time ending. In fact, I usually welcome it.. so why does each passing day, week, month bring so much anxiety? As if it’s all passing by much too quickly, and yet all I can do I stand here, watching. I reach out. I’m stuck. Maybe I don’t belong in this world or this timeline. 

I watch the world pass me by. I watch people scurrying by, I watch people studying or talking or laughing. I watch students and couples and baristas and families. I watch life. Time trudges along by, without them even knowing. I look up at the skies or over the wide expanse of water. I watch the tides rise and fall, the forests breathing life into the mountains… and time is boundless and infinite. I watch it all, I watch my chronology unfold through this glass window as I float away from earth. I touch base occasionally. For a moment, I ground myself, and for a moment I am not an observer of time but a participant in it- I live. Then I retreat. 
I reach into the crevices of my brain and try to put together something coherent. But there are too many holes to be filled, too many lost nights and empty stretches of time where nothing seems to have existed, not even myself. All that’s left are memories, short bursts of pain- muscle memory. You see, your heart remembers the pain. Over and over and over again. Taking the place where memories were meant to be, taking the place of normal teenage happiness and pain and angst. All I have are painful moments that tauntingly replay themselves, turning minutes of pain into years of it, exhausting days of numbness and empty that seem to stretch out into infinity, even beautiful moments that seem to pass instantaneously before floating beyond my grasp and taking everything good along with it. I pretend to be like all of them, anyway. Pretend to live on the same fictional timeline as all of them while my heart & mind continues to self destruct or expand or stretch or simply exist in their own universe where time is but a mere figment.

I think, it’s not the moments that stay, not the measure of time or the numbers that denote it- it’s the feelings that truly stay, and it’s the feelings that warp time itself.

How are you meant to be 18 or 19 or 20 , when the preceding years were empty? I don’t feel like my age.. I don’t feel like anything all all. How do you stand upon constructed solid ground, when the foundation is so painfully hollow? In the end, none of it matters, not the past or what I think or how I feel. Time is its own entity and it escapes my grasp once again. All I can do is stay here, stuck in my own universe, watching. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, watching the world from the outside. It simply hurts. 

Another day, another week has passed me by and I am still nothing.I stay here where it’s safe, in a comfort zone that is slowly destroying me, I want out, I don’t want out. I want to live but I am incapable. I am trapped but I am also trapping myself. Another month, another year has passed me by and I am still nothing. I am existing in this limbo between time and space, the astronaut who’s still floating in outer space and never found their way back. It’s an awfully painful, lonely existence. 

How much longer?
How much more lost time? Will time tell, or will I take matters into my own hands? How would I ever begin to make my way to earth & life, when I never quite belonged in the first place? What if I don’t belong anywhere but this lonely parallel universe? Then what? 

it’s not a fault 

For once, my brain can’t really conjure up the right words. There’s not much to say I guess, just a familiar feeling. I think of every single goodbye I’ve said, all with varying degrees of pain/crying, but the same feeling every time. Just this… emptiness. It’s not even sadness, just a horrible numbness and the feeling that something is missing, knowing that nothing will be the same. It’s funny how I remember feeling the exact same feelings as when I was little and the years that came… I wonder if I’ll ever get used to it. I remember all of them so clearly, actually. Every single one, every single person. Some were temporary goodbyes, some were ‘I’ll see you again someday‘, many that would never return. But then again, I’ve survived all of my goodbyes so far. Even the most painful ones. I’ve survived the crying (so many tears all the time, because I’ve always been an overly-sentimental emotional wreck) and I’ve survived the emptiness and the trying-to-fill-the-emptiness.

I actually really like change.. as long as it doesn’t involve people- but it somehow always does. Sometimes I feel like goodbyes always hit me harder just because of how deeply I love people, and how deeply I get attached even in short periods of time. I feel like I always end up hurting the most… and I can’t imagine anyone would ever be sad about leaving or losing me anyway, I’m not much. Goodbyes always hit me too hard, I don’t think there’s ever been one that didn’t hurt. Sometimes I think that’s part of why I hate opening up or getting attached, why I hate feelings and loving people so much.. because I’m just tired of the pain or even the possibility of it. I often wonder if it will hurt when I’m finally the one doing the leaving instead of always the one being left. (I mean, even in with friendships/relationships, I’m always the one being left instead of leaving. it hurts to be the kind of person that would stick with people and stay/be there no matter what, and then realize not everyone is like that. heck, hardly anyone is like that. but that’s just how it is eh) Would it be freeing, to leave everything behind? I’m starting to realize that sometimes the reason why I want to leave this place so badly is so I can finally be alone and leave all the pain/people behind. Does it work that way?

But all that aside I think, along the way, I’m slowly learning to see things in a different light. People and memories are worth it. I don’t regret loving any of the people/things I’ve ever loved- friends, and teachers, and helpers, and family, and places, and people, even that cute boy who took your heart and shattered it. My therapist is right, that protecting myself from possible pain is also taking away the possibility of good things and all the things that I do want and things I care about. Perhaps it’s just a part of being sensitive, you simply go through higher highs and lower lows. I’m glad I have found people that are worth the pain of going through a goodbye for, I’m glad I have people that are worth the risk of getting hurt for, people worth opening up to. Everything so far has lead to something (the butterfly effect, remember?) and so many times, the most wonderful people pop up in the most unexpected of places at the most unexpected of timings, but solid friendships are formed anyway. I’m blessed indeed. Besides, not all goodbyes are forever. A lot of them have been, but I’m glad this one wasn’t one of them, which makes it a bit easier to cope. I’m still pretty sad, more than I would have cared to admit, but it’s gonna be okay. i’ve come to realize even sadness has a purpose sometimes. happy times ahead. img_5332As I work on processing these feelings and past memories, I realize nothing is really forever. Not people or places or feelings or depression or illnesses.. or life. Revisiting these feelings today, it made me look back and well- I really have been through a lot. I really have lost a lot. I remember all the times I’ve felt my entire soul being ripped apart, and I wondered if I would ever be okay again. Spoiler alert: I’m still alive and kicking!! I’ve gotten so much in return too, even if all that’s left are precious memories and bittersweet moments of looking back and feeling all the ghosts & empty spaces they left behind. I still miss everyone that’s ever left, every good memory and place that has ceased to exist.. sometimes I feel like my heart has just been trampled and left with too many empty holes to fill. But I believe everything happens for a reason. I believe that painful as it may be, change is necessary, that things will always come and go. I also realized how important impermanence is, because it makes it that much more important to treasure every moment and memory. That’s one of my biggest lessons from all the goodbyes. The ending exists just to make what we have now that much more important than it otherwise would. Just like how you can re-read a book but it will never be the same, ya know? I think the same can be said about life, if the end didn’t exist, everything would be pointless wouldn’t it?

I will be okay, after all. It’s been rough lately, but nothing lasts. It’s been rough lately, and I’ve lost sight of the important things for a bit, or maybe I’ve been trying to find it all along. But tonight has reminded me of all the good things, like people. I love people and it’s not a fault, it’s not a fault to feel. I remember my therapist once made this observation ‘I think you actually love people a lot, especially those you care about. Your heart is huge and you love so much, you’re just so scared so you just shut the world away and isolate and ignore your emotions. But you love people, you’re a people person.‘ I was shocked when she said that but she’s pretty spot on.. not many people would be able to say that, not even myself. Hey. People are good, ericia. Don’t shut people off. Don’t shut people off. It’s okay to get hurt, it’s okay to be vulnerable, it’s okay if you’re always gonna be a big softie at heart. It’s okay to not have to pretend to be someone else who’s heart is cold and feelings don’t exist. You’ve always wanted to be that person because if your heart was cold then nothing would hurt it as much. But that takes away the wonderful parts too and honestly you’ll look back and realize you regret nothing in this game of life because everything always leads to something else. I tell my friends all the time, ‘if it hurts, that means at least you were lucky to have something important enough for it to hurt to leave’. I think that’s very, very true and I’m very lucky indeed. Well, here’s to better days, forward.

brave enough

“if you have the courage to make it through a lonely night with nothing but your self-destructive thoughts to keep you company,

darling, you have the courage to make it through anything.”

it’s another one of those nights, not a particularly bad one, just.. numbness. the same thoughts, the same behaviors, rinse and repeat, most of the time I hardly notice I’ve been on the same ride for so long. I say i don’t mind it – i don’t. I’m used to it, and yet truth is, what else do i know? Sometimes I open my eyes, and i’m so worn out from these endless loops and facades that i just want to scream. hope is a funny thing, isn’t it? the one thing that lets us all down, and yet, the pesky little thing that always seems to make it’s way back into our hearts. how can so much hope, and yet so much hopelessness, exist within me?

i’m spinning so fast, one small step off would kill me. i don’t know how to make it all slow down. all i know is, there are multitudes within and forces pit against each other, and i’m sick of having to chose, of having to fight. i have fought like hell to get to where i am, fought to stay alive, fought to leave it all behind and fought to move forward. i fight to keep going everyday.

i hold my ground amidst the tides, toes firmly planted in the sand beneath- this too shall pass, like it always has. i carefully cross the lines to connect the stars, forming new constellations- new hopes and dreams and things to live for. i don’t like fighting, but what choice do i have? tonight i remind myself our souls are woven with the cosmos and birthed from the fire of burning stardust. i have made it through 100% of my worst days and i have the courage to keep going. i don’t see a future now, but perhaps someday i will.

funny how it just started pouring outside as i’m writing this. it always takes me back to that night, the first time i tried to kill myself. i’ve not told this story much, because of how cheesy it sounds. flashbacks to being outside by the pool, hopeless and more broken than i’d ever been, stomach full of way too many pills for a 14 year old, too tired to even cry.. until the rain came pounding down in the middle of nowhere. as the heavy droplets pelted against the still pool, i cried. i cried, and i cried and i cried. the rain saved me, that night. maybe it was something about the sudden nature & impeccable timing of the rainstorm, it felt like it was for me. Hearing your pain reflected in the world around you, crying with you, it makes you feel less alone. It woke me up that night, it was a sign– and i realized i wanted to live. I dragged myself out that night and I woke up the next morning, alive in a hospital bed, needles in me and worried people hovering- but i woke up anyway. people asked ‘what stopped you?’, it was the rain. maybe it was silly, but maybe it was in me all along. i just needed that sign, i needed something to hold onto.

the raindrops have quietened into a gentle pitter-patter now, my favorite kind of rain. i couldn’t help but think, perhaps this too, was a sign- a timely reminder of sorts. it’s true that i could swear at the world, swear at life and declare that i want no part to play in any of it. i could wage war onto myself because destruction comes more naturally to me than making peace. i could do that, and nobody would blame me for giving up, because who wouldn’t be exhausted at this point?

but the sun is rising and the birds are starting to wake, and i know i have the courage to make it through. i’ve tried, and i’ve failed, but there is no shame in trying again. perhaps i owe it to that little girl who fought so hard in the rain, i owe to every part of me that fought to take me where i am today, i really should give me more credit. i will keep going, even if it means staying still sometimes. even if it’s small self-care things or doing what makes me happy or pushing myself to be better or even the simple act of saying ‘i will keep trying’. even if it’s just not giving up and giving in to all the bad things lurking in your head.

the sun is up and the rain has now stopped, leaving gentle rays shining through the sheer curtains in my room and a glossy sheen to the world around me. it’s a new day. and all i really wanted to say is, i will be okay. i’m going to be okay. i will get to where i need to be. i am brave enough to keep living and who knows, i might even deserve it.