Dear You…

Dear You,

I know this life has been difficult for you and on some days it feels like the pain will never stop. I’ve seen the tears that you’ve wept and the screams that you let escape when it all became too much. I’ve watched you crumble to the floor when the despair became so overwhelming that you could no longer physically hold your body up straight. I’ve seen the scars that litter you on the inside and out, telling the story of a battle you’d rather have not fought. I’ve listened to your prayers in the middle of the night when the darkness suddenly makes you feel afraid and you need to hear the sound of your own voice to make sure your still alive. I’ve watched you fall down then refuse to get up, ignoring the outstretched hands of help. I’ve witnessed you break the mirrors in your house because they would not change and only showed you everything you hated. I’ve heard you begging for your life to end and then taking action yourself when those pleas went unanswered. I have been there, sitting in the wings hoping you would feel my presence so the loneliness would stop suffocating you.

I was there the day you chose to save your life. When you decided to get up and heal yourself rather than waiting for someone to do it for you. I was so proud of you in that moment and I’m still proud of you now. I know it sometimes feels like you will never win and the path seems too steep and unmanageable. I understand that at times you feel paralysed and that the sadness fills you up and that for a moment you forget how to smile, believe your incapable of ever laughing again. Yet I see your strength daily, when you get up instead of staying in bed, and when you have breakfast even though your mind is telling you not to, when you walk out the front door despite the anxiety twisting you up in knots. Everyday you dance backwards and forwards, stepping closer to your dreams and the hope of being free and then running back to the place that has kept you prisoner for longer than you care to remember because it seems foolish to expect anything better. You deserve more. Can you not see it yet?

I’m writing to you because you can’t say these things to yourself yet. You are good enough. Your heart is beautiful. There is something wonderful inside of you that even in your darkest moments can not be overshadowed. You choosing to fight is brave. It inspires me. You inspire me. I know that you are filled with light, that your soul is good and that no matter what you tell yourself you are not replaceable. You are more powerful than you think. It is ok to doubt, to be battered and bruised. It’s ok to want to give up and dismantle everything you’ve built, let it collapse like a house of cards because the patience you are showing yourself is too tiring to continue. It is ok to feel all those things. It makes you human.

But give yourself the chance to be happy. Keep fighting to live. Carry on allowing your heart to beat and your breath to move in and out of you. Refuse to walk away from this, never back down, never feel like you belong forced into a corner or contained in a box. Do not give up. Not today or tomorrow or any day ever. You can do this. You will do this. I’m right here. You are not alone.

Love always x


6 thoughts on “Dear You…

  1. This inspired me to try and write a letter to myself during my treatment at Brookhaven. Thank you for writing something so original.

    These things may not be quite ready to be said about you, but I know that they’re waiting to burst forth. Recovery is RIGHT THERE, I can smell it, hear it, and feel it. What about you, Day? What does recovery smell, hear, and feel like to you?

    1. I’m glad you felt inspired to write something and I hope it helps you whilst you’re there and after. It’s great to hear that you can feel the closeness of recovery now, all you have to do is claim it at as your own rather than some abstract idea.

      What does it feel like to me? I imagine that everything becomes sharper and clearer to see, and it will not feel like there is this heaviness sitting on me. Mostly though it feels like it would be freedom, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted πŸ™‚

      1. Awesome! Recovery to me smells like the ocean on a sunny day. It sounds like laughter from many people all having fun and living in the same moment. And it feels like love. Expanding upon that: It feels like love at all times, not just during one single happy moment. Recovery is love that never ends or goes away.

        I hope you discover what recovery means for you πŸ™‚ I’d love to see you experience that and then tell us all what it feels like.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s