Broken Down and Bruised

For the record, I picked a terrible week to start weaning myself off the anti-depressants.

A week when things just kind of fell out of the sky and on my head, so I put them in my backpack and kept on going. The kind where the pack keeps getting heavier instead of lighter, and suddenly you’re going uphill. Where you think you’ve managed it and reached the end without tears, and the sky opens up and rains down everything else you’re supposed to pick up and carry too.

It’s been that kind of week.

For the record, I didn’t make it to the end without tears. And it’s not actually the end yet, so there could be more. I keep thinking to myself that it can’t get any worse.

But.

But I know it can.

So. I remind myself that somewhere out there, there are people that think I am brave. They look at me and see strength, and it encourages them to have their own. I don’t know how I’ve done it – I just put one foot in front of the other and keep bullheadedly moving forward – but somehow I’ve managed to give courage to, lift up, and inspire people simply by being me.

I’m going to put one foot in front of the other today, and I’m going to keep moving forward. It’s going to hurt but I’m going to do it. I’m going to do it because I have a lot of people watching me. And I need to prove them all right.

I can do this too.

 

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