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People have always told me about hitting rock bottom. I’ve been their. I know what it’s like to be at the lowest point of your life and not be able to see that slight gleam of light glowing in the distance. I know what it’s like to be stuck in the darkest of nights where love seems unreachable, where life feels invaluable, and hope was left at the pit stop 1,000 miles back. I’m sitting in a new low. I’ve given up eight years of my life to someone to the point where I don’t know who I am. I conformed myself to be right for him and never listened to what would be right for me.
I’ve become raw. Completely torn down to my absolute coldest and most vulnerable state. I’ve realized I don’t know who I am. I have lost track of the most important person in my life. My heart is persistently aching. I hate who I’ve become. The person who looks back at me every moment of my day makes me sick. I become so frustrated that I realize I’m holding on to breaths for too long, grasp my pounding chest a little too hard, and pass up the opportunities to pick out the most wonderful characteristics I hold. I’ve succumbed to the past, the present, and worry too much about what lies ahead.
The pills that wrapped me so gently with numbness before become appealing. The need for a release from a knife is an image that flashes through my mind. Consequences were left at drink 3 and the emptiness continues to pulsate through my veins. How many concrete floors does it take for a 24 year old female to start piecing her life together, again?
How many pills does one have to consume to start seeing the distant haze of light? How many scares does she have to hold physically and emotionally to finally realize she’s good enough for someone? For her to realize from emptiness, she can grab a hold of fulfillment. How many times does her heart have to shatter into sand for her to find what used to lay in between her chest? When will she find the strength to put it back together herself?


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