Stories of Survival

It's been years. Literally years. And I am coming back here a different person, to tell a different story, a story I have never ever lived before in my life, before writing these pages. I have fallen victim, a victim to my thoughts and my emotions and my feelings. I have fallen to the demons of despair, the demons of hopelessness and helplessness and abysmal self-doubt. I've reached the lowest points in my life where I thought that life didn't make any sense; that it didn't have any meaning. And it shook my insides so hard I almost fell into pieces in front of the people I loved the most. I have seen myself so broken in their eyes, so shattered that I'd wished I just didn't exist. I wished I wasn't. I wished not to be. I don't mean to kill myself, but just not be, because the pain was so horrid I did not see any life beyond it. 

But here I am, telling a story of survival, of a continuous, nonstop fight that I am winning. A fight I do not regret fighting but look forward to telling its story; my story. And here I am writing these words to my future self, and to my past self, to show her that I have survived and that I will. That survival isn't a luxury; it's a necessity. It's a fight that has changed me and will change me to the better and stronger.

Here I am, writing in frenzy, to show the world that I am here, and that I am conquering my fears, anxieties, and depressive states. 

I am here. I am here. I am here.