Pick Up The Pieces

Okay, I can wiggle my big toe now. The hard part is over. I truly think that writing about it would be very therapeutic, but some things should just remain private. It’s hard to “watch the things you gave your life to, broken, and stoop and build em up with worn out tools.” Even harder is the process of starting again at your beginnings and never breathing a word about your loss. I want to believe that there’s dignity in that. There’s gotta be something empowering about having the ability (and the right) to call people out on their mess and choosing not to do so.

Whatever the situation is, I’m taking it one day at a time. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned over the years, it’s that situations like these prove just how strong you are. Life threw something at me that broke things that I thought were indestructible…things that I thought were far stronger than me, yet here I am standing amongst the rubble intact. I’m stronger than I thought, and I know what I’m worth. Now I just have to pick up the pieces. (Cue Hustleman from Martin with the kazoo taped to the saxophone…Pick up the pieces!)