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.