I did not rise all at once.
There was no door, no thunder, no rescue scene—
only a small refusal
to let the dark make all my decisions.
Some days I survived by fractions:
one sip of water, one answered message,
one moment where I did not agree
with the voice that said “end it.”
Healing was not a turning point—
It was repetition.
It was learning to outlast
the version of me that wanted to disappear.
And somewhere in that quiet persistence,
I stopped believing I was meant
to be gone.
Not fixed.
Not finished.
Just here—
still becoming something
the pain could not fully name.
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 8:43 AM UTC
I did not rise all at once.
There was no door, no thunder, no rescue scene—
only a small refusal
to let the dark make all my decisions.
Some days I survived by fractions:
one sip of water, one answered message,
one moment where I did not agree
with the voice that said “end it.”
Healing was not a turning point—
It was repetition.
It was learning to outlast
the version of me that wanted to disappear.
And somewhere in that quiet persistence,
I stopped believing I was meant
to be gone.
Not fixed.
Not finished.
Just here—
still becoming something
the pain could not fully name.
