Sometimes I’m told I am gifted with words. But I see them coming together in sentences and structures and jargon and poems and prose and think – No, no no. It’s the words that are gifted.
They are the music. I cannot help but sing along.
Sometimes I’m told I am gifted with words. But I see them coming together in sentences and structures and jargon and poems and prose and think – No, no no. It’s the words that are gifted.
They are the music. I cannot help but sing along.
The worst part is never when something terrible happens. It’s the first time you wake up afterwards.
After my heart broke, I cried until my body ran out of tears, literally dried up my emotional well. And then I sat in my bed, knees clutched to my chest, eyes open wide – staring at nothing – and rocked. Back and forth. For hours.
I suppose at some point my conscious numbness conceded to my body and I fell asleep.
It’s waking up that’s the worst. The moment you think maybe that was just a dream, then slowly process that it wasn’t. And the realization is stabbing. And choking. As if someone is taking your insides and wringing them out like a washcloth.
But on that morning, when I woke up in my college apartment, the walls were covered with words. Words of hope. Quotes I loved. My sweet roommate snuck into my room before I woke up and filled that place of sadness with kindness and friendship and concern.
I don’t remember all of them, but I remember the largest, written in bright green across the middle of my mirror.
This too shall pass.
And despite my bloodshot eyes and knotted stomach and heavy heart, I could not help but smile.

(Image source: Modern Hepburn on Tumblr)
Why doesn’t anyone ever say, “You won’t be okay.”
You won’t heal. Or recover. Tomorrow won’t be better. The worst is not over. You won’t be okay.
Some things just break you. Some moments, destroy you. Some people, consume you. And you’re not just okay.
And that’s… that’s okay.
Those things, those moments, those reckless people. They define us. Shape us. They twist us and coil us like hot metal after a high-speed crash.
And we’re not okay after that. We’re not okay. We’re totaled.
But somehow we keep going. Each day the same. Not okay. Still going. We don’t heal. We don’t get better. But we just keep going.
The sun rises and sets. And our chest rises and falls. And our eyes stare blankly into the night. Just don’t stop going.
You don’t always have to be okay. Just be. Be hurt. Be angry. Faded. Sad. Destroyed. Degraded. Lost.
It’s enough. All you feel is already enough. You don’t have to be okay anymore. Just be.