This time three years ago I was sitting in bed and about to take a handful of pills. I was about to enter a semi-comatose state that would be filled with fear, regret, and a desire to live. I was going to be lying amongst the metaphorical wreckage of a friendship that was falling apart around me.
Two years later, I was lying on a bathroom floor on a different continent. I was hugging my phone, crying, and trying to make sense of what had just happened. I was now an assault victim.
One date. So much pain. Time I can't get back. Events I can't change. Wounds that never seem to heal fast enough, making them easy for people to open up with careless words, unanticipated movements. Memories that haunt my sleep, waking the people around me before they wake me. Causing me to lash out at the people I love, forgetting that I love them and that they love me.
It's going to be a long day.
I said recently that I spend every day looking for good people. I realise now that I don't have to look far because I'm surrounded by them. They're the people who hold my hand when I'm convinced that good people don't really exist. I forget them, I don't see them, I momentarily allow my past to define me rather than simply shape me.
I'm grateful for the good people in my life, and there are so many of them. I'm glad I survived. If I hadn't, I would never have known just how good life can get. I suspect I still don't. The best times of my life have yet to come.