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.
breathe in / breathe out / you can do this. / breathe in / breathe out / come on / you were made for this. / breathe in / breathe out / you were born with a voice for a reason. / breathe in / breathe out / it’s ok if it’s hard. / and all you have to do today is write one sentence / take one step forward / and that’s enough. / it’s ok. you’re allowed to be tired. / and you can do this / and you will make mistakes / of course you’ll make mistakes / but the sun will rise / and the wind will blow the leaves away and the seasons will change and i promise you there will be another chance like this, even if it doesn’t come right away. / now speak / one sentence after another / you have something to say, and there are people out there who want you to be heard. / be brave / be the loudest thunderstorm / be the roaring ocean / be the wind pushing the clouds away / now rise / rise without looking back / rise, despite all the times you hate yourself / despite the illness / despite the cracks in your head / despite all of this. / and yeah, it takes strength. but i know you can do this.
i just want to close my eyes sometimes. you know that, right? and… my psychiatrist says he thinks i have depression, and i don’t know if that’s true or not right now. but sometimes, i do wonder about it.
i just want to cry sometimes. because i am here. because i am not here. because i don’t want to be here. because the people are too loud. and because my hands are shaking, and goddamn it, i don’t have time to be like this. i was supposed to be recovering.
but what does that even mean? because honestly, i am so good at being sick. but i’m not much for healing. for doing anything other than slapping dollar-store bandaids on wounds no one’s ever noticed, and biting my tongue. go on. i’m fine. i promise i’m ok.
because life is tough. and because this isn’t what the movies make it out to be. it’s slow. and it’s hard. and sometimes, it’s just forcing myself to take one more step forward despite the screaming heaviness on my shoulders. and sometimes, i spend whole weeks running backwards. and sometimes, i get home from school and just fall apart on the kitchen floor, because i still can’t believe it. that for the first time in my life, if you asked, i could actually tell you what i’m living for.
Ok, so a couple notes about this poem.
In regards to what I said about depression–right now, that’s extremely tentative, so please don’t take that too seriously. My psychiatrist thinks I potentially have dysthymia or persistent depressive disorder (essentially, low-level chronic depression) but honestly, right now, no one is sure.
When I talk about “closing my eyes” in this poem, I’m not referring to suicide–more just… giving up trying to get better, something that’s been on my mind a lot.
I know poetry isn’t always the clearest medium, so I just wanted to make sure I was communicating that. 😉
this is me. and if you don’t like it, i will not be remaking myself in your image because i’ve been there. and i’ve done that. and honestly, fuck you. this is what i was meant to be.
this is me. and i am not a toy. i am not yours to torment. i’ve wasted enough of my life being someone else’s puppet.
this is me. and i’m not your disney princess. i’m not your token dramatic teen with mental illness.
this is me, and yeah. sometimes, i have two anxiety attacks in one school day. or i close the bathroom door and fight the urge to fade away. and i fall apart. and i make so many mistakes.
but where were you, when i made tapestries out of my broken pieces? when i somehow found the strength to pull myself out of this darkness? this is every part of me that refused to be silenced.
this is me. this is writing at 1a.m., or sobbing uncontrollably. this is the stubborn determination to do it anyway.
this is hope. despite the inferno on my hands, and the freezing cold. this is the first beam of sunlight, warming my skin after all these years alone. and maybe, maybe, maybe this is what it feels like to finally come home.
This poem is based off the song “This is Me” from the movie The Greatest Showman, a song that’s been really influential to me in the past couple months. I don’t know if it’s good or not, but honestly I just needed to write it and share it with the world.