My freshman year, my science teacher asked us
What do we need to survive?
A grin on my face, thinking that I knew something they didn’t,
Raised my hand and said
¨Love. We need love to live.¨

The correct answer was food, water, and shelter.

 

My teacher laughed and said,

¨Living is different than surviving.¨

 

It took me years to understand.

 

When I was consumed by a darkness that resided in the
Cracks and crevices of my soul,
No prescription could save me,
Therapy sessions lingered on like
The hands on the clock desired

To see me squirming in the seat,
Uncomfortable in the room where the doctor
Sat on the other side of the bed,
Examining me like I was
A science project he could not figure out.
More than that, I was uncomfortable

In my own skin, wondering why

I could not feel at home in my own body.

 

When I believed that there was no cure

And that I was my own kamikaze,
My body like a plane set to
Self-destruct,
I learned that when I break,
I break open.
 

And every ounce of myself,
I raised to the light,
Learned that I did not need love from
A boy who leaves when the sun blinks for too long,
The love of others could not fuel me-
And every ounce of myself,
I raised to the light.

 

And through my mind was thick with fog,
I needed my own love,
No matter how insufficient it felt.

 

Slowly, slowly, slowly,
The cracks within me were
Patched and stitched together
From my own makings,
What a paradox it is to be your own
Destructor and your own Healer.
Slowly but surely,
The bruised pieces of myself
Healed as I whispered to them

¨You are enough,

You are so enough

It is unbelievable how enough you are.¨

And slowly,

I learned that I was okay.

 

My senior year, I hear my teacher ask the same question to
Her freshman class, and I smile because
They are naive, they do not know
Perhaps they will never know.
I think of her response and a wave of
Bittersweetness comes over me,
Surviving is the easy,
But living-
That’s the hardest.