As you may be able to tell from my lack of writing lately and some of my posts, things have been hard.  This is an article I wrote a few months ago, when things were going well.  My hubby suggested I go back and read it, which I did and am now sharing because it’s important to remember this.

Tonight, a good friend of mine told me, “You gotta keep pushing that’s what I tell myself when I want to give up.”

I thought about it for a second, and then I replied, “I will never give up, but I will have days when I give in.”

Giving up is so final, so terminal.  Giving up is releasing hope.  And when we release hope, we have nothing left.

So no, I won’t give up.

But maybe, some days, I will give in.

I will give in to laying in bed and not doing anything.  I will give in to the anxiety that tells me not to go.  I will give in to the migraines and sit in the dark and the quiet.  I will give in to the hunger and eat, despite the pain I know it’s going to cause.  I will give in to the depression, the silent crying that comes with living this spoonie life.  I will give in to the pain, and the pain pill that follows.

But I will never, ever give up again.

I gave up once.  I was so profoundly, suicidally depressed that I had lost it; I had lost hope. So I gave up.  On everything and everyone.  On life.

And after giving up, after choosing death and finding myself with life to live yet, I know…

I may give in on some days, but I will never give up again.

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