Every time we got set on fire, burnt to the ground, even buried beneath it. We chose to get up, we chose to rise, to dust off the ashes that we were suffocating on and regain our focus.
We slowly started to rebuild ourselves time after time again. Every time that we rise, we gain more strength, even if we can’t feel it or see it straight away.
We can combust into glorious flames due to a relapse, a set back or a bad day. This is how I look at people who battle with there mental illness’s every day.
Sometimes we can also be seen as a bright plumage of corresponding colours to fire. Yellow, orange, red and gold, similar to those that resemble the feathers of the majestic, mythical Phoenix.
It doesn’t matter what time it is or how long it takes. Everyday someone wakes up to a new day and forces themselves to get out of bed, even if they don’t want to. They continue to rise from those haunted ashes, from their crippling, consuming mental health illnesses.
And that right there metaphorically speaking, is why i like to think of those who suffer from mental health illnesses, as the fire of the Phoenix..