Black dog.

I wish I could just decide to be okay.  To be happy. Why can’t it be that simple?

To just climb outside my head.

I have a husband and three amazing kids with another on the way.  They make me happy.  They’re why I’m still here.

It’s not that they aren’t enough.  That is absolutely not it.

They’re my everything.  The reason I bother to breath. 

It’s not about them.

Mental illness grafts itself into your bones.  It leaches into your blood.  It follows you everywhere.  It sleeps with you.  It eats you from the inside.  With sharp teeth. With blunt teeth.

It’s not kissing you.  It’s stealing your breath.  Suffocating you.

You’re not waving.

You’re drowning.

And you can’t just decide for it to stop.

You can’t just tell it to go away.

You can’t just decide to be okay. 

To be happy.

You can just hope.

That one day you will be.

Because that’s how it rolls.

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