For the first time in ages
I said I wanted to die
And I didn’t mean it;
I said it again and, still,
I didn’t mean it.

For the first time in ages,
I could look at my hands
And know that they are mine,
That they are attached
Physically, mentally,
To my own body;
I no longer stare, shakily,
In the mirror
Up to my drifted eyes or chapped lips,
Oh no,
Instead, I see such a lovely warmth,
Something tangible
So when I move my limbs
I know I am here, alive, truly.

For the first time in three miserable,
Lengthy, troublesome, god forsaken years,
I am regaining, RECLAIMING, my existence.
That’s right,
No more empty minded drabble
Or loose whispers begging for help,
Some lost fingertips coated in frigid sorrows,
No,
Never again,
I’ve grown so sick of being sick,
So tired of being tired,
So frustrated with being frustrated;
That I am taking myself back.
I accept her with open arms,
Ones I can finally feel,
And God, did I miss her.