At my lowest,
I sit in silence
and bleed nothing but truth.

I peel pain open
like fruit with no skin
bitter, soft,
so achingly sweet.

I trace every crack in my chest
like ancient runes,
looking for the shape of love
in the wreckage.

And when I find it
trembling, ugly, beautiful
I see myself.

To feel this much
is a kind of holiness.
To ache for something
is to prove it mattered.
To shatter for love
is to live.

Even if life is chaos,
I still choose.
I still want.

And maybe that’s enough
to want so deeply
that the wanting alone
makes me real.

There will always be reasons to quit. Sometimes, your body may even reward you for it.
"Quit starving yourself. Look at you.
You're miserable. Help me help you.
Just one smoke. Just one drink. And that's it. No more headaches. No more shakes.
You'll feel like you can think clearly again."
And your body's right. You will feel better. Because change can be painful.
Especially if you're trying to do it alone.
But the saying is true.
If you can push through the pain,
your body will be grateful eventually. And you will gain a new lease on life.