K(no)w Hope
Just like you, I still get stuck in moments. There are days I wake to that can seem overwhelming. Mostly, however, I find today—the present—to be a gift.
Topic: recovery
Just like you, I still get stuck in moments. There are days I wake to that can seem overwhelming. Mostly, however, I find today—the present—to be a gift.
The concept of restarting seems to go hand-in-hand with a new year. But what if I want to hold onto the last 365 days?
The ball drops and fireworks. Resolutions are made. People scream and people kiss and is it possible to change? Is it really truly possible to leave the past behind?
Better, when it comes to mental illness, isn’t charted with benchmarks or being able to say “I’m cured.”
Her heart is pounding rapidly. Her head is throbbing. It feels like her chest is constricting and she can’t seem to catch her breath.
It’s been a long time since I’ve actually enjoyed my birthday. Over the last few years, it’s been a painful reminder that with another year passing, I’m still a mess.
I have scars on my skin and on my soul. I am healing, but I am not healed; I am recovering, but have not recovered. I am a work in progress.
I know this place because I have been here so often I should have it furnished. This is the place where hope and the well wishes and good intentions of close ones are not permitted to enter.
If and when I find myself at rock bottom, I will make my peace there.
Two years ago, my younger sister and only sibling died by suicide. Suicide has touched me. No, let me rephrase that, suicide has raked it’s claws across me, dug in, and refused to let go. I’m now what is commonly referred to as a “survivor of suicide.”
Tomorrow exists to show you why you held on today.
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