Somehow.
I was thinking of dying-
but somehow, I'm still alive.
Can you believe that?
Because I can't.
I've cried, oh trust me, I've cried a hell lot for this life of mine.
A life that often felt like a joke, a burden, a punishment. But I'm here. Still.
Somehow.
I don't even know how I'm doing it.
Because even now,
when I glance back at the past, some things still haunt me. Still shake me.
Still make me want to curl up and disappear.
Does that mean I'm weak?
Or maybe...
maybe I'm strong and just too broken to feel it.
Because I've made it this far.
And that-that has to count for something, right?
But the truth is, I don't have it all figured out.
Not my life, not my purpose, not my path.
Maybe the real meaning of life
is simply to give it meaning. To carve light into our own dark
corners.
To find answers not outside, but in the way we choose to live.
And to you-yes, you-the ones who are hurting, the ones who feel done, the ones who can't see tomorrow...
Please, don't end it.
Not now. Not like this.
But don't lie to yourself either-Life isn't always going to be "fine".
It's rough, messy, unfair. It's a bitch-ha, yeah I said it. (Kidding. Not really.)
Life isn't a rainbow.
But it's not pitch black either.
Real life is grey.
A chaotic blend of black-the darkness, and white-the peace.
In this grey world,
you won't always know what's hurting you and what's healing you.
But if you want peace, you've got to sit with the dark too.
You've got to accept that both exist.
That's the deal. That's the truth.
So keep going-
not with false hope that tomorrow will be softer, but with the quiet, fierce promise
that you will be stronger.
You'll fight harder. You'll scream if you have to, cry
if you must,
but you'll keep going.
And babe, that's what makes you brave.
That's what makes you alive.
