I used to think that maybe I was made out of glass or crystal – something easily breakable.
When I stretch and I breathe and I feel my ribs move so my lungs can expand, and it doesn’t hurt, that’s the most reassuring thing in the world. I remember when it did, and I remember when it felt like my skin was saran wrap and if I were to pull too much it would just split open.
Sometimes I feel fragile and I can feel every individual scratch and dent in my surface and even the scarring underneath, but I can run my hands over them and not feel any pain. That’s when I feel resilient. That’s when I know I made it past all of of those personal wars and somehow I managed to keep myself afterward. Even if all it took was nine years, eleven years, two years, eight months. And those are only some of the battles. Some of the wars.
I can picture a happiness in my mind and I can smile at it again. I can let my mind drift somewhere far away and know that I will one day get that again.
Instead of feeling my heart break piece by piece, shard by tiny, jagged shard, I can feel it being stitched together. I can feel it beating with hope of being whole.
I have never been one to let go easily. I have never been the type to be able to move on even if I know I should. I never learned how to, but at least now I know I can.
Sometimes even if that’s the only comfort I have, it’s better than having nothing.