Five for Fighting

Five years ago today I had brain surgery to save my life.

It has been the worst five years of my entire life.

I have often been called brave, blessed and lucky.

But in all of my life before that day combined, I have never known such fear, pain, and horrible consequence as I have every single day of the last five years.

I have been told how loved, beautiful and valued I am.

But have never felt as lonely, ugly, or as worthless as I have through every single heartbeat of the last one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days.

I have heard overwhelming words of hope, support and promises.

But, I have felt the loss of every dream I dared to dream compounded by soul-shattering abandonment while being decimated by the suffocating weight and retribution of brutalizing poverty.

A decision I made five years ago, which I can't take back, which I can't erase the history of me it set in motion, and which, with ever-weakening resolve, I struggle to survive.

I cling to every whisper of hope offered or merely implied, even as I drown more each day beneath the waves of waiting for help which never comes. 

I endure every treatment recommended, even when they are more debilitating. 

I swallow every ounce of my dignity and my pride, even as the shame and humiliation choke me. 

I beg and borrow to move on to the next little pebble, even as the rock and the hard place crush me.

I push through relentless pain daily, even though the pushes cause additional unrelenting, toll-provoked agony. 

I get up every day, even when every fiber of my being literally begs me to stay down.

Every day... 
for five years.
Every day...
plus, tomorrow.

Breathe Brave.