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A note, to anyone who needs it

It’s February first and I’m really glad I’m still here. There was nothing beautiful or endearing about being sick but to come out of it and realise I’m young, and I’m not the worst thing that ever came into existence, is really fucking nice.

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A note,

to anyone who needs it.

It’s February first, I’m eighteen and I never even dared to imagine I’d be happy. Let alone alive, and free.

If you’ve had a mental illness, or an addiction throughout your teenage years, you will probably know what its like to count days to pass bridges on purpose only to retreat last minute, to dance with the idea of taking a few too many pills, to come to school covered in scars that you seared onto your own body, To ‘forget’ to eat, only to pass out during class on multiple occasions.

I, for one have flirted with so many versions of self-destruction. It really is a miracle even in my own perspective that I am here to stand on my own feet, write my stories and have the opportunity to better myself, be happy and cope.

Here’s the fucked up thing though, I never imagined growing up. I guess I always assumed, I’d be gone by now or completely incoherent, Using substance to escape in a rotting decrepit shell of a house with someone who wasn’t good for me.

I did grow up. I am still here.

I don’t want to die. I’m not using.

So what’s next? I kind of feel like a fucked up version, of dobby or the genie from Aladdin, in the sense I never expected my freedom and I got it, or at least I got to a point where I can say I don’t hate myself and I’m excited to wake up in the morning. The power this holds is unlimited, to me. I’ve started living. I don’t put cigarettes out on myself or sob everyday; I don’t throw up because I made myself anymore.

I’m able to hold a job, go to university, Have normal relationships and not wake up at fucked up hours of the night in a manic episode. I actually don’t assume its me against the world. I do think I am enough; I do think I deserve to be talked to nicely and treated with respect. I am restoring relationships with my family, who have never abandoned me even in the thick of my darkness.

It’s February first and I’m really glad I’m still here. There was nothing beautiful or endearing about being sick but to come out of it and realise I’m young, and I’m not the worst thing that ever came into existence, is really fucking nice.

I have a place here; there is room for me.

There’s room for you too, there is room for all of us Ill squish up on this couch. There is room; you deserve the air you breathe and you deserve to like yourself, it is possible to have and own tomorrow. You deserve the earth you walk on, if anyone made you think otherwise prove them wrong.

You deserve to see fireworks, watch someone you love smile, you deserve to eat nice food and to know you are somebody and you matter.

Please don’t give in, once you recover its good to be here.

Your writer friend- Sophie

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