It was the end of February 2021 when I let someone else voice what I knew deep inside. Depleted of all fight, I accepted it as truth and let it overwhelm me as one final wave, not knowing if I would find my own two feet and rise above the tumble.
But, I did.
I found my footing and showed up for myself in a way I never had before. Quiet and powerful. I rose above it and stood distinctly in the center of it for six more months before the words hit the page in an irrefusable way.
I spoke it into existence one week later. I said it outloud for myself. Tearless and angry.
September 2021 marked a perfect storm.
One I was even more sure would leave me hospitalized for the rest of my life.
One so terrible that, despite the risk of being institutionalized, I walked myself to the nearest ER and stood outside the constant automation of the doors, asking to be helped. Refusing to enter.
