“I remember darkness. Even on days the sun shone and I heard people laughing and talking through the windows I’d thrown open, I remember darkness. It wasn’t around me. It was inside me. I remember sitting in the dark with my head in my hands and my knees drawn to my chest and breathing. Just breathing, in and out and in and out. And every time I inhaled and exhaled without feeling like choking on air, without a sob accompanying the breath I took, I silently congratulated myself. It were small steps, but it were still steps. Well done, I said to myself, well done, and the people outside continued laughing and talking, none the wiser, while I taught myself to breathe around the pain. Around the loss. Around the grief. In and out and in and out. I thought I’d never get out of this vicious cycle that took so much of me. But I guess I wanted to prove myself wrong. Years later, when I’d thrown the windows wide open, I was dancing in the kitchen with the volume turned up, getting the vocals all wrong. And in my head, the people outside stopped talking for a little while. They looked at the window they’d always overlooked in the past and they didn’t laugh, but smiled instead. Smiled my way. Maybe they didn’t even notice I was doing better. Maybe they didn’t care. But I want to believe they saw something in me like I did. And yet, there are still days when the darkness manages to trap me. When I get up in the morning and I feel like going back to that awful time with my head in my hands and my lungs doing exercises and tears streaking my cheeks. But I tell myself well done for every single day I decide to break the cycle. Well done for every single day I prove myself wrong. I think I know what they could’ve seen when I was dancing in the kitchen if they’d really stopped. They would’ve seen me falling in love with life again. Slow and silent and careful. And this is what I want to remember on days when even a well done doesn’t feel like enough.”
yousharknotpass
stormborns
izzy806
jimmyeatworldofficial
amandla
2087
