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#howami
I’m still alive,
 and some days that truth
 hits like a bruise, I keep pressing
 just to prove it’s real. I wanted to die— 
not because I hated living,
 but because everything hurt
 and I couldn’t find the edge of it.
 Because staying felt like drowning
 slowly, politely,
 while everyone else called it breathing. That wanting is gone now. 
It slipped out quietly,
 like it was never the point at all.
 And I’m left holding this body,
 this pulse, 
this unfinished sentence
 that refuses to end. I don’t know how to live.
 No one taught me what comes after survival.
 They just clap when you don’t disappear,
 as if that’s the same thing as being okay. Some mornings I wake up 
and feel grief
 for the person I was supposed to become
 if I hadn’t been so busy
 trying not to die. I walk around carrying a life
 that doesn’t feel like mine yet. 
Like I broke into someone else’s house
 and now I’m afraid to touch anything. I’m tired of being strong.
 Tired of being a success story
 that still cries in the bathroom 
over nothing and everything. But I’m here.
 God, I’m here.
 With my hands shaking,
 with my chest still aching, 
with a future that feels too big
 and a past that won’t stop bleeding. If living is a skill,
 I’m a beginner
 with scraped knees and no map, 
learning the hard way
that staying hurts too—
 just differently. So if all I can do today 
is stay,
 is breathe through the confusion, 
is admit I don’t know who I am yet— then let that count.
 Let that be enough. I didn’t die.
 I survived.
 Now I’m standing in the aftermath,
 trying to figure out
 how to turn this beating heart
 into a life. And I don’t know how— 
but I’m still here,
 and maybe that means 
I haven’t failed yet.
0
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 10:05 PM UTC
Survival's Aftermath
I’m still alive,
 and some days that truth
 hits like a bruise, I keep pressing
 just to prove it’s real. I wanted to die— 
not because I hated living,
 but because everything hurt
 and I couldn’t find the edge of it.
 Because staying felt like drowning
 slowly, politely,
 while everyone else called it breathing. That wanting is gone now. 
It slipped out quietly,
 like it was never the point at all.
 And I’m left holding this body,
 this pulse, 
this unfinished sentence
 that refuses to end. I don’t know how to live.
 No one taught me what comes after survival.
 They just clap when you don’t disappear,
 as if that’s the same thing as being okay. Some mornings I wake up 
and feel grief
 for the person I was supposed to become
 if I hadn’t been so busy
 trying not to die. I walk around carrying a life
 that doesn’t feel like mine yet. 
Like I broke into someone else’s house
 and now I’m afraid to touch anything. I’m tired of being strong.
 Tired of being a success story
 that still cries in the bathroom 
over nothing and everything. But I’m here.
 God, I’m here.
 With my hands shaking,
 with my chest still aching, 
with a future that feels too big
 and a past that won’t stop bleeding. If living is a skill,
 I’m a beginner
 with scraped knees and no map, 
learning the hard way
that staying hurts too—
 just differently. So if all I can do today 
is stay,
 is breathe through the confusion, 
is admit I don’t know who I am yet— then let that count.
 Let that be enough. I didn’t die.
 I survived.
 Now I’m standing in the aftermath,
 trying to figure out
 how to turn this beating heart
 into a life. And I don’t know how— 
but I’m still here,
 and maybe that means 
I haven’t failed yet.
Continue reading...
62
If you ask how I'm feeling Prepare for a long talk But if you want the short version Then I'll try to sum it up How do I feel? I feel like I'm fighting a battle With a billion moquitoes One bite isn't a big deal Neither is two But I'm getting bombarded Bite after Bite after Bite I am surrounded by the enemy And no matter how many I **** There's another to take it's place I can't escape They're ******* the life out of me Even if they don't **** me They hurt Like you wouldn't believe So how do I feel? Like I'm being attacked By a billion mosquitoes
0
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
Mosquitoes