Exactly four years ago today, I woke up in a mental ward. I had books and drawings and fake flowers all in my room. I tried to make it feel like home, when it was not even close to that. It’s quite sad, to be honest. But at the same time I had hope. I had a glimpse of happiness, because I cared about my environment, and tried to make it home. There was a part of me.. who was still myself.
Exactly three and exactly two years ago I woke up in my room in a group home. First thing we did when I moved there, was a trip to ikea. I made my room, my safe place with lots of pillows, fairy lights and pictures. It felt like home. It was my home. I lived there for two and a half years, three of my birthdays.
Exactly one year ago, I woke up in my own little apartment. That was my own first home. It was my safe place. The safest place I’ve ever been in.
Today, I woke up next to the man I love, in our apartment we have together.
This journey I’ve been on, and still am, has not been easy. I have climbed mountains, fallen down, and almost drowned in the reality I had in my head. I was lost, for a long time. I tried to live, not quite making it. I lost parts of myself I never wanted to lose, but I gained more from it. I woke up in different types of places, all for good sake. Both the mental ward, and the group home, strived to keep me safe. But was I really safe from myself? That’s a question I asked for many many years. Am I safe? From myself? The truth is, I was. And I was not.
Throughout the years, I battled with depression and a panic disorder. I dealt with those things for way too long.
Disclaimer: I used to think that I had schizophrenia, but from research I’ve done recently, I found that I should not call it schizophrenia. So, I apologize for saying something I thought was true that was not. I will go more in depth on schizophrenia, (both on my blog and in my free time) just to inform and research more about it, since it’s an interesting and important topic. But again, I apologize. I did not have schizophrenia, but I did hear voices. I do not anymore. I will go more in depth some other time.
But the good thing is, I feel more like myself in this exact moment, than I have ever felt before. I am in the exact situation I am meant to be in. I am happy.
I am nineteen years young. I have watched life run away with time I wanted. Time stopped for me. I was stuck, but not anymore. I found the key in life, that opened the door to the life I always wanted. I learned from all those years living in my locked up mind with hell inside it, that there is hope. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. And that light will shine so bright.
Realizing now when I have recovered, that all those bad things I have been through, do not have to make my future. I am in charge for my future, not my past. No screams in my head, no amount of scars and no amount of panic attacks, define my future, and most importantly, they do not define who I am as a person. I came out of the ashes and from all those relapses, I got up.
I am okay. I am more than okay. And damn, it feels good to say that.