Holding on and breaking down
happen simultaneously.
You grasp at straws
as your hands are pried from the handle
you once had on life.
You are walking
and yet you go nowhere.
Gravity's strong hands will drag you
to the bottom of the sea.
It's inevitable,
the downfall and the events leading up to it.
You make a promise:
I will not __  for  __ days.
You keep it,
but how long are you expected to continue?
If you do it again,
you will be met with sharp remarks
and criticism aimed to destroy you.
The physical and emotional wares
of resisting your only coping strategy
are far more detrimental than you imagined.
You abandon the thing you know
and can almost understand.
You swear you are giving yourself ulcers.
If you are doing the right thing,
why does it feel like the earth
is crumbling beneath your feet?
Like you will never get better
and stop feeling sick?
This is more than you anticipated,
can you hold your own?
How long are you supposed to fight?
Everyone expects you to hold these answers
in some secret, unexplored chamber
that you have never dared venture into.
In reality,
you will put these questions to rest
with experience and discipline.
It's all just part of holding on.