Surviving, Living. in Always Recovering, Never Recovered.

All my carefully constructed walls. All my defences. My everything, built on the shifting foundations of a DIY self-repair. All those moments, all those weaknesses. Everything I am, I lie before you, in six words.

Me too, for a long time.

By my standards, this practically counts as exposing my soul. I don’t talk about this.

I know people must see it, stare through the transparency of my empty-eyed smile and see the holes running through me like bullet wounds. I know they must know, on some level, but I don’t say it. I have spent seven years putting myself back together; sellotape and superglue, trying to build barricades strong enough to block out the darkness. I have spent seven years painting my face happy and learning to live. I regret nothing.

You wince as I speak, something like pain that whips silent across your face. I’m so ridiculously touched by the fleeting idea that you might care, I almost crack. But it wouldn’t be fair, you’ve already been through it, you’ve already taken the brunt of someone else’s problems. And my voice is already shaking, I need to leave it alone. Leave it at this.

So don’t worry, it’s ok. It’s ok, I’m ok. I’ve made it, I’ve survived. Scarred, battle-hardened, full of barricades and complexities, full of secrets. But I’m here, I’m physically healthy, I’m alive. I’m one of the lucky ones.

I don’t need your sympathy, save it for her. For the girl who hasn’t made it, who accepts her fate and knows that she will die. I don’t need your sympathy, because for all my flaws and cracks, I have survived. I’m strong. See just that, when you look at me. Don’t look too hard for the scars… I close my eyes to them every day.

Last updated October 24, 2014