Recently, I celebrated being alive for 18 years. I almost didn't make it.
I almost didn't make it when I was born; I stopped breathing, so my doctor had to resuscitate me.
I almost didn't make it several times over the last few years; the dark place in my head almost won.
When my little brother got sick, I cracked in half. He almost didn't make it. This past year, we didn't plan for Christmas until after his surgery. He is an aneurysm survivor.
I...I am not a survivor. I have lived, but the person I am with depression is certainly not the person I would be without it. Can I even call myself a survivor?
I'm a self-injurer. You can feel the scars on my legs through my pants, and now that summer has arrived, the burns bubble on my arms.
I'm still alive. I have friends whom I trust (even though I feel like a burden when I talk to them) and love, a therapist I'm honest with, and a box of reminders to keep myself grounded. I have a prescription, two weeks spent inpatient on a pediatric ward, a college acceptance letter, an Aneurysm Awareness bracelet, and a friendship bracelet.
Lucky for me, I also have The Band to remind me that WE ARE NONE OF US ALONE. And, I have that tattoo to look forward to, as soon as I'm in college.
I may not be a survivor, but today, I am alive.
And I am With The Band.4 Comments