Here. In my imagination, I survive. barely. Running. Evading what pursues me. I can be anything. I can go anywhere. This is my freedom. And my prison. Today it's the latter. It's too late. Again. I watched you walk into his arms. I loved him. For years. Nine long years. But I was afraid. Afraid of the words on his tongue. Afraid of myself. And now, I'm here. I've grown up. But I'm alone. And he's yours. He doesn't see me. One day his eyes will be opened. And girl, you're going to be alone. Don't lie to me anymore. I know what you're doing. Stop putting on that face you call your own. That mask that hides your heart. One slip up and he'll see who you really are. Then I'll be the one by his side. The ones he calls his own. Nine years. And counting...
“To each there comes in their lifetime a special moment when they are figuratively tapped on the shoulder and offered the chance to do a very special thing, unique to them and fitted to their talents. What a tragedy if the moment finds them unprepared or unqualified for that which could have been their finest hour.” And that’s all the motivation I needed to tell myself I wouldn’t be caught unprepared any more and if I would fail again I would fail better. This post is short and sweet but celebrates some physical and mental milestones. It marks over 6 months of consistent, specific conditioning and the disciplined late nights and early mornings it took to get here. It celebrates 2 years of sobriety and the seemingly impossible work of overcoming darkness when you least expect it. It’s a reminder to me of why I changed so much in so little time and what I wouldn’t have been able to accomplish if I still relied on alcohol to get me through my days. And it’s okay to live a life others do...
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