Something Worth Fighting For
No matter how ephemeral those good moments are, they’re what I live for.
No matter how ephemeral those good moments are, they’re what I live for.
I didn’t realize how many people were in my corner until I actually let them into my corner.
I reached five years of being self-harm free this past October. It was a milestone that often seemed impossible to achieve.
It was a matter of telling myself, “I want to live,” even when all I wanted to do was die.
Today, I share my story of survival. I did not believe that I would live to see my 18th birthday, yet here I am, living.
“What’s wrong with me?” I pleaded. “Am I bipolar or something?”
beyond the clouds, it is there. waiting at an oak table with a mug of donut shoppe coffee and a newspaper, saying, “you’re alive. isn’t that the greatest thing anybody can be?”
I love myself four drinks in. Four shots of vodka and I am a great mom. Four drinks in and I’m funny and likable. The anxiety disappears. My mind quiets.
No one may know exactly how it all feels, but it’s my story to tell, my words to write down, and perhaps one day someone else might look at this and feel less alone.
It’s possible to live with scars, to feel the same pain you feel right now and to not hurt yourself because of it, to want to stop.
Depression is like a tunnel, not a cave.
When I see declarations of happiness in pounds lost and images of shrinking frames, the voice of my eating disorder begins to rustle.
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