Strong

I remember when she called me strong. She was my first counselor. I had told her things that I never told other people. My voice would quiver as I voiced my greatest fears, my weakest moments. I felt so broken. I knew the words were harmful, but I still used them on myself. I revealed my heart so I could fix it, but I didn't see it in pieces. It had suffered and hurt and caused me so much pain, but she? She saw how hard it worked to beat, how it held on for so long, How it continued despite the pain, just waiting for a moment. Even with the worst thoughts and chilling fears, she made me see what was stronger. Hope. I didn't think I had any of it left after everything. I had accepted my punishment. But my heart kept beating, despite how scary all of it was, Despite how much it hurt to continue, To continue to the next moment I would cry out why. I'd fear the next moment I would not be strong enough to survive. And then the next moment waited a while. The next one waited even longer. In the throes of sheer terror, there would be a hand to help me back up. There would be someone else who would glimpse the same demons. For her, they were familiar. She learned how to not be afraid. My counselor didn't fight them, she embraced them. I would nurse the wounds of my hurt heart. I didn't need to fight them. The thoughts tried to keep me safe, but they were demons too monstrous to control. I didn't deserve to hurt like this. My suffering didn't make me weak. The thoughts aren't there as often. When they are, they're not as bad. I have embraced the moments in between, And they are so much better now. I can feel joy again. I'm used to numbing it all to avoid the worst of it, But I don't have to do that anymore. I can talk about the bad. The hurt is healing. And it feels so good to get back up and know that I can keep on going. I'm thankful for that first person to hold out a hand and pull me back up.