The Hard Stuff

I tend to write a lot about hard stuff. Some people find that depressing. But the simple truth is life is hard and it's even harder when people post their filtered lives on social media, airbrushing away all the very real pain that is surely there. I want to be honest here.

I live in New York City, a place many only dream of living and a place most can't. I have my own apartment and an amazing job. I'm in a healthy relationship. I have friends and family that would do anything for me. It would be very easy to only show you these parts of my life - the parts that aren't messy. But that's not reality.

My reality is that I suffer from anxiety and PTSD and have a history of depression. I have not been shy about my mental health here. I've laid it all out for you to assess and judge and take stock of. This place is a refuge to me. Putting my feelings onto paper (so to speak) has always been therapeutic for me but the value add - I hope - is that it's therapeutic for you too. I hope you come here looking for the truth and find comfort in the fact that it's not always going to be pretty. I hope you can relate to my experiences and know that you aren't alone. 

I struggled this week. I cried for 13 hours straight. My face was so swollen the next morning I couldn't open my eyes. It hasn't been like this since last year, since I was in the middle of processing my assault. It's not pretty, but it's honest. 

I know right now you're feeling your own pain. I don't know what you're going through but I know it can feel as if there isn't enough of you to get through it. I know it is overwhelming and terrifying and seemingly too big to overcome. But you will surprise yourself. You will push through it and feel all of the horrible things and then you will look back months from now and wonder how you did it. How the hell did you survive? It doesn't matter how. It just matters that you did.