i was seven when i went to my first therapist thirteen when i started keeping track of how many bad days in a row i would have fourteen when i wrote my first letter fifteen when i was rushed in an ambulance to the hospital eighteen when i admitted myself willingly twenty when i started using substances to cope twenty-five when i planned my final day and twenty-six when i inked my skin for a fourth time with another reminder for as long as i can remember, i have struggled to exist not because of a lack of wanting it, but because it is so hard some days i am overflowing with awe and joy, and other days i am drowning some days i am clamoring to experience all that i can, and other days i am afraid of waking up but i have come to learn that feeling everything so deeply, is not a problem to be fixed that there is room for everything to exist at once and that there is nothing inherently wrong with knowing only how to show up as a deeply sensitive and vulnerable human so on the good days the ones where you wake up with the sun streaming through the window and you feel the warmth of your favorite person beside you and you lay in the grass while reading a book we will cherish them and on the bad days the ones where you can’t get yourself to eat even the food you love and the thoughts in your head make your chest ache and your toothbrush sits untouched we face them as they come 🤍