Mon, 11/22/2021 - 10:31 -- layla_

The cereal swims in the bowl, innocently enough

It’s cold and sugary and terrifying

I struggle to take a breath

I watch it float, the minutes tick

Recovery can only be put off for so long

With a silver spoon

I swallow my pride

And eat my poison. 

The first bite is hard

As is the second

And third

But I continue to eat it

Because this is essential


Absolutely necessary; extremely important 

How can I get better

If I can’t even eat my cereal? 

I take my fourth bite

And my fifth

And my sixth

The taste is sickeningly sweet

But I’m beginning to appreciate it

It hasn’t touched my tongue in many months

Like many things that scare me

I take my seventh bite

And my eighth 

And my ninth

The bowl is nearly empty

I stare into it, exhausted

There’s a lump in my throat but I’ve done it

This is recovery.


A return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength

I have my own definition now


Fighting to be better than I was before, in health, mind, and strength.


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