Let’s raise a glass to another year,
voices close, future unclear.
I lift my eyes and I’m still surprised
that I made it here - still breathing, alive.
My wife, my anchor, patient and strong,
you stayed when the nights stretched painfully long.
You never demanded I be okay,
just loved me through every broken day.
My friends - who showed up, never looked away,
who sat with my quiet and chose to stay.
No judgment spoken, no debt to repay,
just open hearts when I’d lost my way.
Thank you all - for loving what I couldn’t see,
for helping and hugging, for believing in me.
For treating my hurt like it wasn’t my shame,
for saying I matter,
no ******** or blame.
I’m sorry - for the fear that I saw in your eyes,
for every worry I caused, every heavy sigh.
For the weight of concern that I laid at your feet,
when standing upright felt more like defeat.
I’m sorry I’m here and still so in pain,
still learning how to live with my brain.
Still working through wounds I didn’t choose,
yet somehow feel guilty for carrying them too.
A new year awaits, and I won’t pretend
that I’m healed, or fearless, or near the end.
There’s trauma to face, old scars to tend,
and days I’ll need help again and again.
I’m afraid I’m not strong.
I’m afraid that I’ll fall.
I’m afraid I won’t be enough for you all.
But I’m here tonight,
and that counts I hope,
fragile and broken,
but trying to cope.
Thank you so much
for helping me through,
and I’m sorry but grateful to be surrounded by you.
I don’t promise light.
I can’t promise I’ll win,
Only that I’ll try to keep fighting,
try not to give in,
And if I falter, if I lose my way,
I’ll remember tonight,
that you came and I stayed.
Jan 12
Jan 12, 2026 at 8:26 AM UTC
Let’s raise a glass to another year,
voices close, future unclear.
I lift my eyes and I’m still surprised
that I made it here - still breathing, alive.
My wife, my anchor, patient and strong,
you stayed when the nights stretched painfully long.
You never demanded I be okay,
just loved me through every broken day.
My friends - who showed up, never looked away,
who sat with my quiet and chose to stay.
No judgment spoken, no debt to repay,
just open hearts when I’d lost my way.
Thank you all - for loving what I couldn’t see,
for helping and hugging, for believing in me.
For treating my hurt like it wasn’t my shame,
for saying I matter,
no ******** or blame.
I’m sorry - for the fear that I saw in your eyes,
for every worry I caused, every heavy sigh.
For the weight of concern that I laid at your feet,
when standing upright felt more like defeat.
I’m sorry I’m here and still so in pain,
still learning how to live with my brain.
Still working through wounds I didn’t choose,
yet somehow feel guilty for carrying them too.
A new year awaits, and I won’t pretend
that I’m healed, or fearless, or near the end.
There’s trauma to face, old scars to tend,
and days I’ll need help again and again.
I’m afraid I’m not strong.
I’m afraid that I’ll fall.
I’m afraid I won’t be enough for you all.
But I’m here tonight,
and that counts I hope,
fragile and broken,
but trying to cope.
Thank you so much
for helping me through,
and I’m sorry but grateful to be surrounded by you.
I don’t promise light.
I can’t promise I’ll win,
Only that I’ll try to keep fighting,
try not to give in,
And if I falter, if I lose my way,
I’ll remember tonight,
that you came and I stayed.