I don’t know if I’ll get better. Or if I’ll live long enough to finish my before I die list. I don’t know if I’ll ever have a friend like Leonard or meet someone who makes me feel the way reading Tigerlily does. I don’t know a lot of things.
But I do know I want to hold on. And I hope that I am strong enough to. I don’t know how long it’ll take for the scars to fade, or if I even want them to. But I do know that I live in a world where people like Leonard exist and that gives me hope.
I know nobody is planning on swooping in and saving me, for two reasons. One, I’m not a damsel in distress and two, the only person who will ever save you is yourself. I feel like that’s the only way I won’t relapse,getting better for the right reasons.
I don’t really know how to feel about a million little pieces but I know that it did something for me, and I don’t think I can quite put into words something I don’t understand yet.
But it was special, in its on way. Not like The Catcher In The Rye or Tigerlily or The Perks Of Being A Wallflower, books which mean everything and more to me.
It has it’s own special place in my heart.
I want to get better. I want to get better. Fuck. I want to get better.
I don’t know if I’m strong enough.
And it’s too late for a quote stolen off of Pinterest to save me now, or maybe even for love letters to myself. I think I need to accept and move on and be analytical and firm if that makes sense?
My mental health is still being figured out and I’ll probably be recovering for the rest of my life but I do know what I need to do to get to the point I want to be at. And if I get there and I’m not happy then maybe I’ll give up. But for now I’m holding on. Partly for myself, partly because a part of me feels like I owe it to Leonard, a man I never even knew.
But I find it cool how you don’t even have to know someone and they can change your life. Impact you in ways you didn’t think were possible. I will grit my teeth and I will slug it.
I will take the bullshit if that means someday I’ve got my own apartment doing whatever the fuck makes me happy and that list gets completed.
I will pick up the million little pieces of myself and put them back together. Differently this time. I’ll do it my way. A million little pieces, and I can be whatever I want to be.
There is no blame.
Just a choice. Yes or no. A decision, I’ll have to make over and over again. To get better.
And I hope I choose yes.
I hope I choose to hold on.
For myself. And for a man I never knew.
I finished reading A Million Little Pieces by James Frey a while ago and I got the urge to write this the second I finished it.
I’m fine… I think