You Bleed Just to Know You're Alive -Song Whittington

 Title reference - Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls

    As always, I want to put a general trigger warning. I will delve into personal things in this post, as I do in all of my posts. With the darkness that is the subject of "The Plague" I'm sure you can imagine what I talk about. Remember to take care of yourself first and foremost and that you are loved and cared for. 

    This past reading I used an app called Seachify to help me read. It helped me get it done, but after a certain point, I could no longer grasp the story being told. It wasn't due to me losing interest or the AI reader being monotonous. Rather, I was stuck in one scene as the AI continued reading the chapter. My mind remained on the boy, laying in the bed, tossing and turning in pain. Of him curing up and stretching out, of having brief moments of relief only to be followed by a tsunami of pain. There was no rest for him, not truly, not until he died. I may have perceived it wrong, but I do believe he died. It sounded like it, and as sad as it is, I'm happier that he died than stayed alive in that immense pain. In moments like his, when healing seems far from reach, death seems to be the better option. Maybe it isn't, but it certainly looks more appetizing than trudging through the seemingly unending agony. 

    I'm going to reiterate my trigger warning here. I am about to delve into a dark mental health topic. Be sure to take care of yourself. If you have the slightest doubt about being able to continue reading, I suggest you stop reading. Your health is important. Take care of yourself. 

    Today, on February 22 (yeah this is late heh), I am 357 days self-harm-free. March 1st will be a year and I assure you, it hasn't been easy. Around the halfway mark it proved easy. When I hit months 7 and 8 I had nearly forgotten had it not been for my app reminder telling me "hey, you're x-months SH free!" Yet, the last month or so, starting about mid-January, a lot of old urges came at me. Depression and all that tags along with it can come in waves. Lots and lots of waves. As much as I stand still just little ways in the water, letting life lap at my ankles and watching the waves in the distance closing in, they still catch me off guard. No matter how keen I am about watching the waves, they still hit me, the sand still shifts, and I am still taken under. As though I could keep going, I stand up, coughing up water, only to be hit by another wave. As I near the one-year mark, the waves have proven stronger. They call to me, "come back," they say. They want me to wander out, deeper, deeper still. They want to take me in their cold but comforting grasp and pull me down. "Sleep," they offer, but it's a lie. I have to keep fighting. Yet, the boy in pain stains my mind. I feel his pain, different as it may be. To give in to sleep would be so much easier. To sleep forever, to never feel that pain again. I can't, though, I know this. The easy road is not the right road. Despite the urges, the burning feelings, despite it all I have to keep going. The water can't take me over, I won't let it. There is no light in sight, not in my direct line of sight at least, but there are flickers in my peripheral. Friends and family coming alongside me, simple pleasures like games or writing, little lights that can keep me going. No, it's not easy, but it's going to be worth it. It doesn't seem like that right now, but I have to remind myself. In the end, it will be worth it. All of this pain and agony, walking through this hell, will be worth it. So I keep standing back up, coughing up the water and facing the next onslaught of waves. If for nothing else, I keep standing for those who can't. Like the little boy who gave in, I will stand for all of those who fall to the waves, so perhaps one day no one ever will again. Because it's worth it, I promise. It's worth it. 

-Michael 


Commented on Ashlyn's and Isabelle's 

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