Please.

You’re falling this girl to her knees.

The first day I took this pill I was so happy. I was awake, I had energy, I wasn’t sedated, and I almost felt like the little kid I once was. I couldn’t believe it. It had been so many years since I had felt like that…even a decade. It felt so, so good and heavenly.

It lasted a few hours until the pain set it.

The muscles in my head, neck, shoulders, and back clenching like a million little fists in my small, delicate muscles. The pain shot into my eye like an ice pick, and didn’t cease for anything. It gripped me, wrapping around my head and snaking down my limbs and torso, holding my entire body hostage from my life. It had me, and there was nothing I could do.

I took the pills I was supposed to. I took the pills that were supposed to help. I took a nap and went to bed early, hoping that I would wake up to find this pain gone, but every time I woke, it still lingered. 

I touched my shoulders and necks, feeling so many big knots and trigger points. I tried so hard to massage them out, to get some relief, but it didn’t help at all. Erik came over and I took him upstairs into my sister’s dark bedroom with me because I needed him there while I tried to sleep. I buried my head into his shoulder and my fists, and my pillows, but no amount of pressure helped the pain at all. No amount of drugs even touched it. I tossed and turned for hours begging God to let me sleep and to feel better while I sobbed into my pillow, with Erik holding my hand and stroking my back to comfort me. I finally broke down and asked for my dad, and even he couldn’t make it go away or even ease a little bit. I sobbed, telling him how it wasn’t helping and how I needed to go to the hospital. I wanted an ambulance. It hurt so badly to move, and even the darkness of having my eyes closed wasn’t dark enough for the light sensitivity I had. I was nauseous, dizzy, and in more pain than ever.

My dad got me downstairs and he and Erik took me to the ER. I lie curled up on a gurney pressing a sheet to my eyes to keep the light out. The sounds of the ER hurt. I didn’t have a pillow, so my neck hurt even more. I waited and waited for the doctor to take the pain away, but nobody came. When they finally did, they gave me medicine through an IV, and I just prayed it would work. It did. I was knocked out almost instantly. It felt like I was sinking into deep, dark water. I could sort of hear what was going on around me, but I wasn’t really there. After a while of letting the medicine work, I was prescribed an anti-nausea medication and a painkiller and was discharged.

Today, I decided I would try to take half a pill instead of a whole one. Again, I was immersed into the pain I was before, but less of it. I had to nap and lie down the whole afternoon and night. I was forced to take a bath instead of a shower. Massages weren’t getting rid of the muscle pain. I was dizzy, nauseous, and my head got that same pre-migraine feeling. 

The night I was in the ER, the pain got so bad that I dug my nails into my opposite hand to try to hurt myself somewhere else to relieve the pain that I had in my head.

I have gone through seven years of doctors, disappointments, tears, pain, and pills; SO many pills. I’m normally jaded when it comes to new treatments because I don’t KNOW that they’re going to help me. The moment I feel them helping me is the moment I’ll say they help; not before that.

But the euphoria I had about this one pill…I wanted to cry. I almost felt normal. I almost felt NORMAL. But it didn’t work. It backfired. The crash and tradeoff was worse than the benefits were worth, and half a pill gets me almost no benefits at all. I can’t even handle that small of a dosage. It’s normal to take this pill twice a day and be fine. My body couldn’t even handle that. I couldn’t get this one thing. I couldn’t get one thing that only helped me. Of course not.

It just gets me down, because I hurt so badly, and I know it hurts the people I love to see me in this much pain, too. It gets me down because I thought that, for once, I had a chance. But I don’t. I hate being reminded that I have these limitations that render me physically incapable of doing absolutely anything but breathing. It makes me SO sad. 

Don’t take your health for granted. Don’t take anything for granted. I know it sounds simple, but I would kill just to be able to wake up without any pain. I would kill to be able to live normally and to have an overwhelming job and take more credits at school, and everything else I wish I could do but can’t. I wish I could do the things that most people complain about. 

But I can’t.

This doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying. There’s another pill like this that I can take that hopefully will work better…I just got so excited and now all that’s been crushed, and it takes a toll on me. I really thought that that could have been it, but it wasn’t. I guess I still have farther to go. I know it’s all part of the package, but sometimes, the package freakin SUCKS. 

I’ll never stop trying, though.

Not when I have so many reasons to be happy.

My mom was saying how this dance reminds her of me and my fight with my illnesses.

I think she’s right.

(Source: d-a-n-c-e-b-l-o-g, via thecliffordshow)

The only words you’ll regret more than the ones you use to intentionally hurt someone are the ones you leave unsaid.
Don’t hold back and say what you feel, because you never know what could happen.

(via thingssheloves)

“I don’t have the fears I came in here with. I was afraid that I couldn’t make it through college, but I did. I was afraid that nobody would ever be able to love me or want me, but now I know that’s not true. Now, my life is great. I’ve gone through the worst that could have happened, and I made it through. I made it through my first year of college, it’s summer, and I’m in love. Everything is wonderful.”

For the past few months, my therapist and I have really had nothing to talk about. All we talked about was how thankful I am for my family and everything and everyone in my life. He suggested that I might take a break if I felt like it, but that I could always come back or call him if I needed to. 

I took him up on that offer.

Today was my last appointment with him, and I’m not scared. I’m not scared because I have love; all kinds of it, and it drives away my fears. Love is my constant. It’s the one thing I can count on to be there when everything else falls away. I realize how lucky I am, and I am so grateful to be able to give and receive it so freely. 

I’m ready to walk on my own for a while. If I need to go back, that’s okay too. Right now, though, everything is pretty great. There’s light at the end of the tunnel, and I’m excited for the future. I’m even excited for tomorrow. I’m living instead of just existing, and it feels great. 

I’m walking in the light without a rain cloud in sight.

(Source: beautymotion, via taylorlaurenbieber)

She was struck down; it was her doom.

Sorry, but I don’t really feel like recapping the past four days, and I don’t think my brain can handle it.

I got sick in the middle of gym. Got dizzy, shaky, cold, sweaty, and had stomach problems. I’m in a fog, right now. When I get like this, it feels like I’m in slow-motion. It’s hard for me to think straight, and it’s REALLY hard for me to hold a simple conversation. It’s hard for me to write this. My body’s kind of on autopilot. 

After I had locked myself in the gym bathroom, I realized that I don’t even care that people know or what they think of it anymore. It happens when it happens, and there’s nothing I can do to control it. I’m not going to make it worse by not taking the time I need to recover and stabilize just to save face. I will sit in that bathroom as long as it takes, even when everybody comes knocking on the door. I will tell them I’m okay until I really am. I will sit down while everyone else does gymnastics. I will do whatever I need to do to stay alive.

I had sat down for a while, so I tried a press handstand. It was great, until I got up. Huge head rush. I collapsed against a stack of mats and closed my eyes and grimaced unintentionally. Primal reaction. 

I miraculously drove home, and collapsed on the bed next to my mom while my dog licked me to try to make me feel better. I lie there for a while until I was stable enough to change out of my leotard and into my pajamas. My body was extremely pale. My hands were clammy. I looked at myself in the mirror. I saw my hip bones jutting out through the thin fabric of my underwear, and my ribs expanding and contracting as I inhaled and exhaled. I got a flashback to December and January when I was really sick and only 95 pounds on my 5’6 frame. When I get really weak like that, it hurts for my body to live. It hurts for my heart to beat, my lungs to fill with air, and blood to pump through my body. I can feel it all, and it hurts. Surviving hurts.

I looked at my pale face and my green eyes. There was sweat on my brow, and my curly hair was poking out of my braided ponytail at strange angles. I could still find myself in there. I could still see me through whatever was gripping me. I wasn’t totally lost, but it would be easy for me to become lost in all that pain.

It hits me so quickly. It’s like I’m standing on the beach and it’s sunny out and the water is calm, and in a second, the sky turns grey and I’m hit by a huge tsunami that knocks me off my feet and tries to drag me out to sea. There’s no knowing when that switch is going to be flipped, and that’s the hardest part. I could be anywhere doing anything. That’s why I get anxious about traveling: because it could happen when I’m in between point A and point B and then what?

It’s the one thing I’m afraid of. It’s the one thing that’s kept me from doing so much. I remember when I was little, my mom would tell me how she wanted me to be able to go places and see the world, and I wished I could too. But I can’t.

I have spent my entire life constantly monitoring my body and the smallest changes I feel. I have spent years swallowing twenty pills a day, having needles pushed into my arms, hands, forearms, face, neck, legs, feet, and butt. I am used to hearing my own blood spatter into a test tube. I am used to hearing empty promises and being given invisible, incurable diagnoses. I am used to crying, I am used to having to cancel plans, I  am used to people criticizing me for what they cannot see or understand. These are things that nobody should have to be used to.

I hate it when my body gives out on me during gymnastics. Gymnastics is supposed to be the one thing that I am good at and the one sport that takes my mind away from all of that sickness. It’s the one thing I’m supposed to be able to do no matter what. I’m supposed to be good at it despite all I am. I’m supposed to OVERCOME. But then I can’t. The gym is the one place where I feel the strongest in mind and body. It’s the one place where I can see my hard work pay off, but then I’m struck down in the middle of one, one hour work out that I can only do twice a week or I miss my chance, and it’s not fair. Suddenly, I don’t feel powerful anymore. I feel weak and pathetic. I watch my friends tumble, work, and succeed, and all I can do is sit on a mat with my arms wrapped around my stomach trying not to vomit or pass out. 

I realize that this is probably painful to read, but I need to let it out. With this medication change and two major attacks in three days…it just knocks me down. I know that I will make it through this and that I will be okay, but I also know that this will happen again, most likely a lot sooner than anyone thought.

And you know what’s ironic? Today’s the day I officially ended therapy. 

I know that the happiness in my life largely outweighs all of this, and that it always will. Love is louder than all the pain that I go through on a daily basis, and it’s much louder than all of these attacks that I have. So yeah, I may feel like this from time to time, but I know that there is SO much happiness out there waiting for me. I know that I have so much love to fall back on, and so many people to hold me while I cry, and I will always love them so much and be forever grateful for all that they do for me. 

I’m just really sad that this makes them sad, too. My mom and I were talking to my therapist today about how I don’t really talk about my feelings to a whole lot of people, and it’s because a lot of them have to do with pain and all of this, and so it’s easy to feel like a downer or a burden, even though I know I’m neither. I write here instead.

I know that I will be able to look back on these words that I wrote and know that I got past that. I got past the pain, frustration, and sadness. I left it behind. I was strong enough to not let it consume me. I was strong enough to move on, and I was brave enough to keep fighting. 

“Brave.”

That’s a word that people use to describe me. I used to deny it, because I don’t know any other way than to keep going. And now there’s a movie coming out called “Brave” with a main character that looks exactly like me. I know that I’m brave, but I also know that I’m just doing what I have to. What other choice is there? I can’t let this take over my life. I can’t do that. I would be failing by default. I would never be happy if I did that, so I chose happiness:I chose to fight.

I’m Ali Waxman, and I choose to fight.

Okay, I’m afraid.

I’m afraid to see your name engraved in stone with only that dash in between two dates representing your life. I’m afraid of what will or won’t happen. I’m afraid of being there by myself, but I’m afraid of bringing someone with me, too. I’m afraid of confronting it and knowing that your body is six feet below me, because to me, that’s not YOU. 

It’s been three years and I’m still afraid.

(Source: darkandchaos, via p3ytonn)

Hi.

I feel like I’m holding on to something I shouldn’t be afraid of losing. It just scares me when so much time passes and suddenly it’s years out and I can’t remember. It’s like it’s supposed to get farther and farther away in the distance the longer it’s been, but it doesn’t get any smaller on the horizon; it stays the same, you know?

There are SO many people in my life who have changed it, for better or for worse. They are the people I have to thank for making me who I am today. I carry a little bit of each of them in my heart, whether it’s in the form of a scar of a bandaid. Sometimes I wonder if these people think of me in the same way; if I was just as important to them. The truth is that we don’t know, and we will never know how much we mean to each other unless we put it into words. 

That’s why I like writing. I think it’s really important that we tell people how much they mean to us. I’ve learned the hard way that you never know if you’ll get the chance to again. You think it’s not gonna happen to you, but it will, and you’ll be sorry. I like putting it into words. I like brightening someone’s day, anonymously or not. You don’t know how much something little like that could help someone so much. It doesn’t hurt anyone, either.

Like Keith, for example. Every year, I write him a letter for his birthday because he’s been such a big part of my life growing up here. He’s like the big brother I never had. Or even here on tumblr. I like leaving people messages when they least expect it. 

I like connecting with people on a deeper level like that. I think it’s really important. Those are the people you never forget, and those are the best friendships to have. I got SO much of that this year, and I am SO grateful and thankful for all of these wonderful people I have been lucky enough to meet and be friends with. 

I am happy. I am so, so happy now, and I have been for a while. I have finally gotten my chance. Middle school and high school were horrible to me, but I held on because I knew that someday I would have my chance and that opportunities would be there for me. I am so glad it’s finally happened. Even when bad things happen and I have horrible days, I know that everything is going to be okay because I am in love, I am happy, and I am surrounded by the most fantastic people. I know that everything is going to be okay because I will be with them. I know that things will get better, and I didn’t necessarily know that before. This year has been both the best and worst year of my life, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I’ve gone through a crap ton of trials, and I’ve found myself in them. I like who I am. I feel beautiful. I am not afraid or horribly insecure. I go out with my big hair, t-shirt, sweats, and no makeup and genuinely do not care. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m competing with anyone; I don’t feel like I’m competing with the world and losing. I don’t feel like I’m one card short of a full deck, and I don’t feel ALMOST good enough.

Here, I AM good enough. People like me here. I have value here. I am smart. I am talented. I am beautiful. I am important.

and I have NEVER felt like that before.

I’ve been sitting here trying to tell you how groundbreaking this truly is, but I can’t. Words can’t express it. 

All I can say is “thank you,” and tell you that one day, you’ll feel it, too.

I never want this to end.

(Source: things-i-tell-myself, via doesnteverybodywanttofallinlove)

I realized that I stopped playing the piano regularly when I became depressed. 

That was seven years ago.

It’s because piano’s personal; you have to have that music inside of you to keep going and to be able to play full out. Suddenly, I didn’t have that anymore. It just died out.

Then I remembered writing a post in the beginning of this year about getting my music back, and I don’t think it’s gone away since then. I won’t let it anymore. I think that it can still dim and soften, fluttering against my bones softly as if it were knocking on a door asking to be released but I don’t think it will go away again.

I need it.

(Source: nire-kcolrups)

This school year’s almost over, and I’ve changed so much. I think I’ve become a lot stronger; more fearless. 

FEARLESS isnt the absence of fear. Its not being completly unafraid. To me, FEARLESS is having fears. FEARLESS is having doubts. Lots of them. To me, FEARLESS is living in spite of those things that scare you to death. Letting go is FEARLESS. I think love is FEARLESS.

Sorry to quote T Swift here, but it’s true. All of that is true. I’m still afraid of things, but I’m fearless. 

Going to this college has been one of the best decisions of my life. I remember lying in bed trying to decide where to go, but deep in my heart I always knew that this was the answer. I went to pray about it and realized that I didn’t need to. I didn’t know why, but I knew this was going to be right somehow.

The beginning of the school year…I felt like something big was going to happen. Something life changing. I felt like I was riding a roller coaster and climbing to the top of a big drop: I couldn’t see what was ahead of me yet, but I knew something was coming.

It did.

I declared my theatre major, something I had been planning on doing since I was a little girl. In fact, when I was in sixth grade, my whole class wrote letter to ourselves that we would open when we graduated high school. Mine talked about going to college for theatre. When I look back, I think that my twelve year old self would be very proud of me right now.

I auditioned for the fall plays and got callbacks for leads in both of them, and I was cast in the most amazing show I have ever been lucky enough to be a part of. I auditioned for another play, and there was that moment under the stage lights that a boy with dark hair and hazel eyes held my face, looked into my eyes, and told me I was very pretty. I thought he was going to kiss me. Later, I’d found out that he almost did. Something clicked then, too. I didn’t even know his name, but I knew that he was going to be really important to me in some way.

It was that same boy who got me to join an acting class taught by someone named Markus. It was a technique class. They needed more people and I needed an acting class, so I joined. There were doughnuts and truth on my first day, and I knew that that was going to be life-changing, too.

We started rehearsals for the show, and the director was actually kind. It was the deepest, most complex show I’d ever been a part of. Everyone seemed to like me, too. And then, halfway through rehearsals, the guy who stood next to me had to drop the show, and that same boy who had told me I was pretty was cast in his place. By then, I knew his name. 

Erik.

It was tech week. It was our final dress; the day before the show opened. I always drove him back to his dorm because it was cold, but also because I wanted more time with him. I stopped in front of his dorm, he gave me a hug and said he didn’t want to let go. Instead, he kissed me.

We opened the show, and the blackbox was always packed. Most people had never really seen a show like this before. I certainly never had. There were so many special effects, lights, sound, and media. That, couple with fantastic acting made the show a hit. It was eerie and creepy, and everyone knew about it. 

The show ended, among other things. I broke my wrist and was not able to type my final essays. I had to speak my words and ideas to my parents, who would type them for me. All the good things in my life had suddenly come to an end, and all that was left was stress and pain. I sat in Michael’s living room with the rest of the cast, hearing the news that our show had been selected to go to ACTF, which was huge. We were going to Utah. I remember I had to leave early to go to therapy. I didn’t want to stay there in the same room because it hurt too much.

Winter break came, and it was the worst six weeks of my entire life. I was severely depressed. In fact, it wasn’t until after those six weeks that I realized I hadn’t smiled the entire time. I underwent surgery to remove my impacted wisdom teeth, and everything that could possibly go wrong did go wrong. My face swelled and bruised so extremely that I looked like an adult baby with five o’clock shadow. The pain medicine didn’t work. My gums did not heal properly, and I was left with dry sockets (after they finally stopped bleeding, that is). I lost twenty pounds. I couldn’t wake up; I slept for up to twenty hours a day. It would be too kind to say that I was simply miserable. My parents were afraid for my life. They had to wake me up every hour or so to make sure I drank water. They had to force me to eat. I simply wasn’t hungry, and food was not appetizing at all. It was as if they were offering me dirt to eat. 

On December 28th, I broke down in tears and asked to be taken to the hospital. I wasn’t living; I wasn’t even existing. My parents took me to the ER to be admitted, and I had the absolute worst doctor experience of my life. Because I didn’t have a fever or infection, the hospital staff refused to admit me. I started sobbing. I honestly wanted to die. If living was going to be this painful emotionally and physically, I didn’t want to do it anymore. I couldn’t keep it up. My parents argued my case with the attending doctor, crying just as I was. That was the second time in my entire life I had seen my dad cry. Throughout this whole time, I only told one person I was going to the hospital: Erik.

Because I had gone to UCLA Children’s Medical center when I was a minor, I was taken there instead. They decided to admit me. Tests of every kind were ran. My mom had to leave to take my sister back to school in Idaho. My dad stayed with me. I was woken up in the middle of the night every few hours to take my bp, my temperature, pulse, and all that. I had an iv in my arm to give me fluids and medication. My dad slept on a couch no wider than his shoulders. Doctors came in and out, and they all seemed to ask me the same questions. I pled my case so many times, pleading them to find out what was wrong and to take care of me, because I honestly didn’t know what I was going to do if they didn’t. 

One day, a doctor came in and told me that they eliminated everything, and all that was left was Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. That was the LAST thing that I wanted to hear. I didn’t want another life sentence; I didn’t want something else that was incurable. I didn’t want more pills, I didn’t want any more specialists, I didn’t want another shackle on my ankles. I lie there in my hospital bed frantically explaining to this doctor why this could NOT be it; it absolutely could NOT be this. I wasn’t allowing it. I lie there sobbing, pleading, until I finally burst out, “Just find out what the FUCK is wrong with me!” 

That was the first time I’d ever dropped the F bomb. The doctor just stood there, telling me that they’d do the best they could with what they had, but I was terrified that it wouldn’t be enough. I texted Erik and simply said, “I quit.” He told me I couldn’t. He told me that too many people loved me and looked up to me and found inspiration and me. I asked that if that was indeed true, why did I have to suffer alone?

He had no answer to that.

This was the first time I had begun to really stand up for myself. I couldn’t take it anymore. Something had to be done. I couldn’t be everyone’s inspiration while I sat there in agony with only my parents to comfort me. I couldn’t be pushed aside by doctors anymore. I just couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t.

The next day, he came to visit me. It was the first time anybody had ever done that for me. I started to think that I was worth it and that things might change.

They did.

I was discharged the next day because there was nothing more they could do for me. I had spend New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day in the hospital. I wasn’t strong enough to walk to the car. When I got home, I was barely strong enough to walk up the stairs. I had dipped under one hundred pounds, and instead of things getting better, they got worse. I got the worst stomach virus I had ever had in my entire life. I’ll spare you the details. I couldn’t move for three days. I lie on the bathroom floor barely able to talk, begging my parents to take me back to the hospital, but I stayed home. 

I was in some of the worst pain I’ve ever been in, and that’s saying a lot. I was so, so underweight that I could feel my body working. My heart fluttered and my breath was shallow. It hurt. I thought I was going to die.

I got over that, and I started trying to regain back my strength, but it was an extremely long process. In fact, I’m still doing it. I’d cry because I’d put on my leotard to try to go to gymnastics, and it would be baggy. It’s supposed to be skin tight. Showering warranted a six hour nap. I couldn’t bend over without feeling like I was going to pass out. My parents still had to force me to eat. My clothes didn’t fit. Things were horrible, and they weren’t getting better.

I slowly regained enough strength to make it back to school at the end of the break. We had rehearsals for ACTF, which was in February. I couldn’t stand through the whole show like I used to. I was determined to, though. I stood through a burst ovarian cyst for an hour and a half. 

I was well enough to go to ACTF. My jeggings were still the only pants that fit me, but I made it. I was well enough to walk around and participate in the festival, and it was fantastic. I saw so many great shows, one of which has become one of my favorites. By the end of the week, though…I knew I was in love. I knew that he was too, but that he wouldn’t admit it. When we got back to California after that 14 hour bus ride, he texted me and asked if we could talk the next day. I was so scared, because I knew I was in love with him, and I was terrified of what was going to happen. I could not lose the one thing that kept me grounded here.

When I met him the next day, all my fears disappeared. Everything was okay again because we were in love, and when he kissed me, I started crying. I cried because I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I was so happy; this stuff NEVER happens to me. I am never the girl someone falls in love with, much less wants. But I was. It was like the one missing part of me came back. He’s my best friend and my love, and I know that I can get through anything with him. He gives me hope. I know that my future is going to work out and that everything’s going to be okay because we’ll go through it together. I know that everything is okay. Everything is okay. Everything is okay, and that’s something I was never able to say before. Everything is fantastic.

I teched another show. I was part of costume crew. I was set to be part of costume crew for the musical too, but I got sick again. I got sick again and never got better. A day turned into two days, and two days turned into a week. In turn, that week turned into two, then three, then four…I was missing a lot of class. I couldn’t do anything. My pain was getting worse with the weather changes, something that had never happened before, and I was scared because it was so new. I couldn’t predict anything. I was sicker and sicker, and of course, I had an incident with one of my teachers. This always happens. 

I had to register with ARP, Accessibility Resource Program. It’s for the disabled students on campus. I struggled with that…all of my life I had been saying “this illness is not who I am. It doesn’t label me or define me.” I had always tried to push past it and do everything normally like everyone else…but I couldn’t. I can’t do that anymore. I finally had to accept that. I realized that I didn’t want to be labeled as “disabled” because of all the negative stigma surrounding it. What I’ve realized, though, is thatI don’t need to worry about that here.

That’s something that’s kind of been strange to me: that people genuinely like me and don’t pity me. I was always second best, and I was always the responsibility and not the friend. I was always the one who cared more, and it’s not like that here. Here, people think I’m pretty. People think I’m talented. They like me, and I’m a good friend. Before…nobody ever acknowledged any of that. I always had to prove myself. Always. I always have to fight for anything and everything I wanted and deserved, and I don’t have to do that here. People are happy here. They’re happy to help, and they understand. They don’t blame me. They think it’s unfortunate that I’m sick because they care about ME, not because I’m a charity case. That is the first time in my life it’s ever been like this. I am so grateful for it, and I still find myself being taken aback by it. 

I have absolutely wonderful friends, an amazing boyfriend, a great family, and I am SO blessed and lucky to have them in my life. I don’t know what I would do without them. There is no doubt in my mind that I needed them to get through all of this. Of all of the times I have cried this year, SO many of those tears have been happy ones.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that things get better. Yeah, they’ll get bad once in a while, but I can count those moments on one hand. There are so many moments that have taken my breath away from happiness and awe that I can’t even begin to number them. All of the people I have been lucky enough to meet, all of the shows and directing scenes I’ve been able to be a part of…I can’t believe it. What did I do right to deserve all of this wonderfulness? Whenever I feel like letting go, I remember all of this; I remember the reasons I’ve held on for so long and I remember all of these fantastic people and I know that as long as I’m with them, I can get through anything. It’s true. I have no doubt about that in the slightest. 

I have grown so much as a person, and it’s so insane to look back on and be able to say that I got through those things. It’s crazy to be able to say that I have all of the wonderful things and people in my life that I do, and I am grateful for all of that every single day. I can’t even begin to express how truly lucky I am to have all of this.

I think my twelve year old self would be very proud of me right now. 

I may still be sick and in pain, but I’m happy; I’m not suffering. I’m happy, I’m in love, and everything is great. Even if it’s raining today, I know that the sun will come back out. I know that the dark must end and that the sun must rise. It has to, and I know that it will. I know that I can work through it, and I know that I have people that will follow me into the dark. I know I have people that will carry me when I cannot walk anymore. I know I have people that love me, and that is the best feeling in the world. I can do anything with them. 

Thank you so much for reading this and being a part of my life. You guys help me and inspire me just as much as the people who are physically a part of my life. 

I’m shaking my head now, still taken aback by all that’s happened. 

Thank you.

Now I know the true definition of “fearless.”

(Source: glasspaperskyscraper)