The tears run down my cheeks like
acid. It burns, but maybe it's the anger inside that's boiling; it's kind of
hard to tell, and I guess it doesn't really matter because it hurts
nonetheless.
There is so much in my head right
now and I can't sort my thoughts, even for myself. I'm confused and lost and
detached from the world, the labyrinth of my mind my prison.
Two things happened this week in
my world of craziness; I hit five weeks and it's been two years. Both of these
things are hard for me to process. At the same time I can't pretend they aren't
there, it's all part of my story, and to heal from any pain I hold within I
know that I need to face it all; I can't pick and choose.
Let me back up and explain- five
months is the amount of time that I have made it without turning to that old
straight edge demon. Five... Five is still nothing in the scheme of things, I
want more, I want forever to come, I want an actual reason to feel proud of
where I am now. I'm not fair. I know that I am not fair; I have made it through
more than most anyone could imagine, for that mighty enemy that I once chose to
call friend is with me everyday. I have to say that today I will make it, today
I will survive, nothing can get in my way. But wait, how can it be? That smooth
silver blade, fresh, sharp...it calls to me, it reminds me that no matter what,
it is the only one who can evade the
pain. Every time I pull off its little cardboard vest I pause to remind myself
that I am someone's inspiration to fight, and if I give in that's just saying
that's ok. I guess there it is, the proof that I have strength, that I am
healing, forever too far to imagine....but if I can go each day without falling
into the temptation of my own monster, I am heading in the right direction.
Two years. Well, I want to pretend
the day doesn't exist, but I can't, it's an extremely important day in my life.
Not only because that day my parents could've been visiting my grave, but
because that day, in a way, was the beginning of it all. I should be dead, I
was so close to my own demise that the mere thought of it throws all of me back
into that day. FLASH car FLASH goodbye texts FLASH drive FLASH turn myself in,
a prisoner to everyone love FLASH long ride to the Psychiatric Hospital FLASH
the beginning, the place where I couldn't get any lower. But I could fight to
get higher, and that's exactly what I did. You see, those flashes could have
easily ended after goodbye texts, no more memory would flash through my mind
because no more life would be inside me. This is how far I have come, good or
bad, I have made it two very rough years, I have made it through (what feels
like) a million different meds, but after two years things are starting to feel
like maybe I can be better. Maybe despair and fear and anger aren't all there
is for me. I am a survivor, a fighter, a normal human being. My story is
nowhere near the end, by my own hand at least. So every single day, no matter how low
I feel, I can return to that day and know it's been worse. I made it then and I
can make it now.
This isn't where I saw my life,
not at all actually. Really, you learn to roll with the punches no matter how
badly they hurt. Everyone has the strength to overcome.... in the end, it's all
about having the patience to let things get better.
