for a change.
Proud to look back and realize
that for nineteen unusually long years
I have fought monsters
(largely unaided)
that would make grown men cry
and shudder where they stand.
My head may be dark and
every day may be a fight
but I am very much alive.
Each morning
when I open my eyes, and
am still fighting
I should be proud.
God knows that its tough
trying to explain the way
mental illness overcomes a life.
Nearly impossible to describe
how my emotions, sometimes,
aren't even my own.
How they cloud my vision and
how sometimes I don't even remember
being sad.
It's terrible to try and tell
why anyone would hurt themselves
unknowingly, in their sleep.
There's secrets I keep from people.
But I keep smiling.
I am strong
and I've made it 19 long years.
I'm hoping to make it many more.
And I'm proud.
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