i am healing. i am stitching myself together, piece by piece. i am broken glass and ruined tapestries, and a childhood stolen away from me.
i am the first step forward. i am shaking hands holding the bandage over the bleeding wound of my past. i am gritting my teeth through the pain, and somehow finding courage.
i am a flower growing through the heaps of garbage. i am a ray of sun in the middle of a snowstorm. i am melting ice, and the feeling of loving arms.
i am battle scars. i am every day just trying to make it through to the end and still feel like i can live with myself. i think this time i can live with myself.
live with knowing… that i will always be a little broken. that i will cry some days, and it will feel like the world is ending. and i will just want to stop caring. stop trying. but i won’t.
i made it this far for a reason. i am improving. i am getting better, even if i’m only healing slowly.
and maybe someday, i really will be able to say i’m in recovery.
My therapist thinks I’m stable enough to switch to once-every-two-weeks sessions, despite how much I’m going through right now, and to be honest, I’m terrified of how that might affect me. But I’m also hopeful. Because… maybe that means I’m getting better.