I Am Brave. I Am Fierce. I Am Strong

Trigger warnings: mental health, self harm, depression

I sit on the bathroom floor. Sobs engulfing my body. Thoughts racing through my mind. Why am I like this? My screams muffled by the blanket on my face. I turn to it, my weapon of destruction. I pick it up for the first time in almost a year. I squeeze it so deeply into my palm, that my fingernails leave indents in my hand. Why am I not good enough? Why does my body fight against me? Why is my family arguing? Why does no one care? I squeeze harder. I can feel the blood rush to my hands and I feel it pooling. Breathe in. Breathe out. I've struggled to fight this urge for almost a year and with the weapon of destruction in my grip, I could do it. Do it now. I've never wanted anything so desperately. The urge is so intense, that I feel myself sweating and my pulse racing. I just want the pain to stop. I stare at my wrists. Stare at the part of my body I have grown most familiar with over the years. But something is different.

I unclench my fist. The pain in my palm lessens. The urge is starting to pass. I stare in front of me for what feels like forever, dazed and alone. For the first time, I've defied my body. I refused to do what I always thought it told me to do. I am in shock and disbelief. My body aches, my eyes sting, my mind is still screaming that this isn't over, but it is. I've done the impossible, something I've struggled with my entire life: I said no.

I pick myself off the floor and allow myself the smallest of smiles. For the first time in a moment like this, I feel powerful. I race into my living room and grab my laptop and begin to type. That's what blogging is for me; my escape, my therapy and today, my saviour. I read back the words that have spilled out of my hands and I allow myself a slightly bigger smile.

I am brave. I am fierce. I am strong.

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