Still...

I’m still person-ing my way through it.

The truth is wavy, unstable, unfiltered, un-together. And the truth is, I’m still riding the rollercoaster, still surfing the waves, still coming up for air long enough to catch the sunset.

I still wake up to panic attacks, I still cry until my eyes are swollen, I’m still triggered by my mind, still paranoid, still processing the trauma; it’s all still…still. And, yet, I’m still here. Still practicing resilience, still leaning on love, still crying at the sunset, still choosing gratitude, still dancing with the madness. I’m still human-ing my way through it all. I’m still sifting through the truth.

It’s not a perfect process, but it’s me. I still smoke too much tobacco and don’t drink enough water. I still can’t sleep more often than I can. I still can’t talk about a lot of things. I still can’t go to the places I used to love, I can’t listen to certain songs, I can’t read my own writings, and I can’t watch those videos with the sound on. 

But I know what love feels like at midnight. I know what resilience tastes like. I know that I’m a work in progress, and that, more than anything, means that I’ve made progress. I know that I get to love myself in the process of becoming what I’m not yet. 

I know that every breath is a miracle and that I still love this life enough to show up every day, dance with the madness, find the truth, and love the love. I still trust life enough to know that it’s all okay today.