Kiana

Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes,
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
Exactly the contents of one and exactly the contents of two,
and which is ahead?

[…]

They come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary…”

—From Walt Whitman’s, “Song of Myself.”

Don’t wage a war inside your head. There’s too much violence, you don’t need more taking place inside your body. You have to stop this destructive behavior if you still want to keep breathing tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, and the next. Remember your dreams.

You will be fine. Hold on to that no matter how much you question its certainty and believe in its uncertainty. Please hold on to that.

There are rituals that can help you wrap your head around loneliness. Small, unnoticed rituals: binge-watching Friends while drinking hot chocolate in bed; scribbling the hell out of your mind in your journal; writing down what you feel in the most honest and vulnerable way and then tearing the pages apart afterwards. You can burn them, too, if you will, and throw the ashes away.

You can get past this. You’re going to be fine; I promise you that. We will hold each other’s hands and we will fight brave and hard to uphold that promise—to make it real. But for now, look around. The sun is shining, there is enough light, you have a glass of water in your hands, and you are breathing. ♦