Sitting with our pain today for our tomorrow self

May this be the part we look back on with awe

I’m sitting on the floor of my dad’s guest bedroom. The lights are out. My small space heater burns my toes. The warmth on my skin is nostalgic: it reminds me when I’d run from the shower to my bedroom as a little girl, eager to feel the heat from my wall heater against my wet skin.

Creature of habit.

How am I here again?
How is this my life?

Tabs in my internet browser grow. So does my hopelessness. Eating disorder treatment. Therapists in Seattle. Insurance. Job searches. Bank statements.

At the gym I see girls giggling as they help eachother on the bench press. I drive by the breweries and groups of smiling faces sit around half filled glasses on picnic benches. A couple is in line in front of me at the grocery store. My phone rings, and it’s a treatment center.

How is this my life?

Over the last few years I feel as if I’ve lost everything.

I know that this isn’t true. I know I haven’t lost everything. But I’ve lost many of my friends. I don’t have a steady job. No apartment or home. After getting divorced, I started from scratch. But I fear that in doing so I’ve lost more than I can bear, and what I’m left with is alot of mental illness and difficulty staying alive.