I don’t notice it until we’re in Tucano’s.
It’s been a pretty low key birthday—I hadn’t even seen
my roommates or Grace until just before dinner. No one around me, in classes,
on campus, knew of course. That also means I’ve been cooped up in my head all
day.
Last night was the real celebration I guess. My
sisters and Grace and Tangled cake. Several people made the same harmless
comment that’s been running through my head all day today.
Congrats, you
made it!
My first reaction is heck yeah I did. I’ve been to
hell and back, fought suicidal thoughts more times than I can count, fought
suicidal urges exactly three times.. the last being less than two weeks ago.
But I’m still here. Two and a half years past when I originally would’ve been
gone.
My second reaction comes in Tucano’s, halfway through
dinner, surrounded by two of my dearest friends and incredible food and happy
chatter.
And I don’t feel anything. The food doesn’t even taste
good, I feel awfully disconnected, I can barely participate in the
conversation.
Congrats, you
made it!
I made it- past what? Years hazy with depression and
shaking with anxiety. And made it to
what? More of the same?
Congrats, you
made it!
It is not a comforting thought. I made it to a
limited life. Samantha keeps preaching that I need to accept mediocracy, accept
the fact that I’m broken—and so is my life. Word for word, from my therapist.
Congrats, you
made it!
I didn’t—don’t—want
to.
Congrats, you
made it!
Freaking fantastic.
No comments:
Post a Comment