and yet you are all that you have, so you must be enough. there is no other way."
i call in sick to work and then i sit in my mothers room, legs outstretched, bones pressing against the floor, sunlight on my back. i read wasted. i finish it in a rush, tumbling over the words, gasping for air when it is over. i read the paragraph above again and again, trying to slow the frantic clattering of my heart, the realisation that this will never be over.
sure, i will get better (if i try). but i will always be different. i have seen the world from outside the tidy box of sanity and although i can learn to eat and live and laugh, i cannot undo what i have seen.
but yet, like she says, i will always be me. when the broken pieces get put back together the picture will be different, but it's okay. i will still be me. you will still be you.
that is all that matters. that is all that we have.