Dear Diary,
Running.
It’s become my escape.
When I’m lonely, I run.
After a traumatizing argument with my boss, I ran.
I run to keep pace with life,
to release the anger I’ve been quietly suppressing.
I run to feel fit,
to push my body until I’m exhausted,
until I can finally cry.
I run to feel something—
the pounding of my heartbeat,
the burn in my legs,
the reminder that, somehow, I’m still alive.
I’m lucky to experience this simple privilege of being human.
Even luckier to have a body that can carry me through it all.
I’m thankful for this vessel,
for the small discipline I’m trying to build,
mile after mile.
I don’t know how long I’ll have this freedom.
But for now, I’m taking my time—
appreciating each day I make it through.
I think back to earlier this year,
when all I wished for was an end.
Every prayer was a whisper to God to end the world,
because I was tired.
So selfish, right?
But oddly, that was when I felt safest.
Back then, I had everything—
but no one to lose.
Now, I’ve lost everything I once had,
yet I’ve found someone I don’t want to lose.
Life is strange like that.
One day, I wanted to die.
Now, I’m clinging to life, desperately wanting to live.
I wonder how much longer I can hold on,
because lately, it feels like I’ve lost all my strength.
All my desire to continue.
With all these mixed emotions,
I wonder—
Who am I, really?
Truly,
Rhia
