This is pain. This is heartbreak. This is crying silently at 3 am, hoping no one can hear you, while also wishing someone will. This is hopelessness. This is believing it WILL NOT get better, because it's just a saying, because that's what they say to comfort you, because it's not true, because it hurts. This is wanting to give up. This is imagining your death in several scenarios, hoping just one of them will play out because you don't want to be here anymore. It hurts.

I know how much it hurts.

This is three months later. This is the morning. This is eating breakfast, taking a shower, brushing your teeth, taking your medication, getting out of bed even if you climb back two seconds later. This is being a cocoon of blankets, This is being one with your bed. This is noticing you're hungry and getting up to eat for the first time in days. This is going to class. This is getting in the car and coming home because the sadness threatened to swallow you whole. This is a new day. This is getting up and trying again. This is baby steps, this is good, no wait- it's not good. This is nothing. This is nothing because it still hurts. It still hurts because you're still sad.

I know you're still sad.

but this is healing.

This is recovery.

I know you don't notice it, because it is silent. It is silent and slow and I know sometimes it still feels like you are made out of nothing but sadness but you are still here,

and you got out of bed today.

You ate breakfast.

You took a shower.

You went to class.

You took a deep breath and said: "I can do this."

So no, this isn't nothing. This is healing. This is tiny and ridiculous and I know it sounds ridiculous because you're not better, you're not happy, you KNOW you're not.

but you're going to get there.

You're going to get there because I'm getting there. Slowly and surely. One day at a time. I remind myself that this is healing. I'm not quite there yet, I still have a long way to go, but we will get there together.

I promise.