I used to complain—about my weight, my food, my clothes, my skin, and so much more. But lately, I’ve come to realize that life has never truly been about these things.

I witnessed a one-year-old baby, just beginning her journey on this earth, take her last breath despite relentless effort of her doctors to save her. I saw children as young as two, three, and ten, in excruciating pain, breathing through machines, fighting for a life they barely got to live.

And here I am—healthy, breathing on my own, able to eat and drink whenever I please. What more could I ask from life?

Life has a way of teaching gratitude, often at the cost of witnessing others’ suffering. It humbles us, reminding us of the blessings we take for granted. As someone rightly  said, “I once cried because I had no shoes until I saw a man with no legs.”

I've survived 9 suicide attempts.
Been in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU) twice
And
Lived to tell the tale.

I've been molested and *****.
Been able to tell my story in multiple ways.
And
Lived to tell the tale.

I'm not a survivor.
No.
I'm a liver.
I've done my surviving phase. That was miserable.
Now?
Now I live.