For the majority of last year, I did not live – I only survived. My body was in panic mode for 299 days. I counted the hours of every day waiting for it to be over. I did not want it to end entirely, but I also did not particularly want to be. I thought I deserved to suffer and also somehow wanted it.
For a while I have been struggling with the fact that I did this to myself. I considered the days, weeks and months I could not enjoy as lost, lurking as a shameful and dark period in the back of my mind. While I am still exploring the reasons for this, someone recently brought up to me that it was also me who pulled myself out of it again. When I hit rock bottom, I was there for myself. When my body showed me that it could not go on any further, I stepped up and took ownership again. I lost trust in myself but in the dark, I also found it again. I think this has been crucial to my journey and it has taken me months and so much strength to build myself back up again. I do not know if this re-exploration will ever be fully completed but here are three things I do know: I do not have to go through this alone, life does not have to be this hard and ultimately, I am alive and growing. And I am so grateful for this.