I'm pretty sure that there isn't anyone who actually reads this, but it is nice to think that there might be one person who likes to keep up on my thoughts and read some of my writing drabbles, its a bit therapeutic to be honest. I've kept up this blog for longer than any journal throughout my life and while the dates are all over the place and I don't post regularly, I still post every now and then and I'm proud of that. I love this blog and I love seeing how long I've had it and reading my writing to see how much I've changed. I've been more open on this blog than with most people in my life and I like to see how my struggles have shaped me as a person.
Reading what I've just written, it kind of seems like a goodbye or a closing post, but I promise (to anyone who may be reading) that it is not.
I think I'm finally getting better. My demons are still sitting on the back burner, they are still there and I expect that they always will be, darkness never truly leaves, even on the sunniest days there are still shadows. Yet, they are just that now, just shadows, which is a lot more manageable. This realization came on the bus today when I was thinking about the fact that I haven't had an urge so strong I had to fight to resist it in a few months, which is a huge change from the last 7 years of my life. But it isn't the decrease in strong urges (and note that I say strong urges, there have still been urges, but I was able to overpower them and move on) that has clued me into my progress. Yesterday was my first day at a new job at a pizza place down the street from my apartment and I put on the uniform and worked and wasn't afraid. You see, the uniform is a short-sleeved shirt and when I reported to work yesterday, I realized as they handed me the uniform that I had forgotten to bring a long sleeved shirt to go underneath it to cover my scars. Now, I couldn't just walk out, I had to put on that uniform and go to work, regardless of the scars on my forearms. And I did. I worked and finished my first shift exhausted, but proud because I wasn't paralyzed with a crippling fear of my scars being out in the open, it was the opposite, I actually forgot they were there. In September I started playing for the Quidditch team at my college (as you know) and I've been consistent about playing in short sleeve shirts, even at tournaments when I would come into contact with people I didn't know. This, in itself, was a big step for me because I always had the hardest time with my scars being seen by anyone. When I was swimming at my old college I would hold my arms until I slipped into the pool in an attempt to hide them and I was never comfortable with them out around my teammates, but in these last few months I was getting comfortable with them very slowly and beginning to wear short sleeves to practices and then to tournaments without even thinking twice about it or worrying. I didn't realize how much more comfortable I was getting with them until yesterday though. When I was 16 I was in patient for a week (I'm pretty sure I mentioned it just after it happened on this blog) and was told that I would never be able to get a job if people saw my scars, which created a lot of insecurity for me in the workplace because I didn't want my scars to be seen by anyone at work and every job I've worked up to this point I did my best to make sure that I always wore long sleeves and never rolled them up or let them slip, but last night I worked an entire shift in short sleeves and wasn't even afraid. I'm on my way to overcoming my last battle with my demons - the battle of acceptance. And I don't think I've ever been so proud of myself.
So I don't know if anyone keeps up with this blog, but if anyone does, I'd just like to raise an internet toast - a toast to recovery and the long process it entails, but the pride with each small step towards finally being able to say: I did it.