At some point I no longer had sad words to string together

So, I chose not to write at all.

The dark and depressing felt comfortable and familiar

After all, to write something from the heart, isn’t that the author’s purpose? 

The lighter side of things felt scary for some reason-

How could I grasp and then articulate the things I did not know/understand?

Who would read something about the fear of healing?

The fear of the unknown? 

Comfortability and Familiarity are destroyers of desires and dreams,

At the same time, you think the grass is greener on the other side 

But how would you know the potential of your grass when you don’t water it…

I speak from my soul because she is the only logical part of me.

The wires of my brain were hijacked by a chemical imbalance,

Body dysmorphia erased my identity,

I found myself lost within my own existence.

Tear yourself down,

Build yourself back up,

Apologize to no one.

If I could go back and undo all that was done

I would not go back at all. 

There are only two times in my life that I was ever genuinely afraid:

The day that I was born,

The day that I chose to continue to live. 

I’ve picked up the pen,

Found some loose paper,

Only three words come to mind:

I am alive.