I spend time with people older than me, people who often don’t have much of their own. Yet they see me, see what I do every day, and say, “You’re strong. You get up, go to work, and keep going despite everything.” Those words remind me that life continues, that I’m still capable of standing on my own.
Am I happy? I’ve felt glimpses of happiness, but never true, lasting joy. I still fight many battles inside myself. Some mornings I wake up screaming, like something inside me hasn’t healed, like the trauma never really left. But there’s a feeling, deep down, that I have to be here for a reason.
I have a friend named Dre. He knows everything about me, all my secrets, all my pain. He once said: “For you to still be here—there’s a reason. You have to see it through to the end, to understand what it all means.” Those words are a ray of hope, a feeling that my life has a purpose despite everything I’ve been through.
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