I woke up still here.

Not grateful.

Not okay.

Just here.

Yesterday tried to sell me an ending

that pretends to be relief.

I know the difference now.

Erasure isn’t rest.

So today isn’t about fixing anything.

It’s about not making it worse.

I don’t want the sweet version of things—

not the sweet lie,

not the soft exit people romanticize when they’re tired.

I want what’s real.

A room that exists.

A body that keeps going.

A day that doesn’t ask me to perform my pain.

I ate something.

I drank water.

I answered one message.

I let the day touch me

without negotiating my way out of it.

I keep thinking survival should feel like progress.

Sometimes it just feels like weight held correctly.

I’m not choosing happiness.

I’m choosing consciousness.

Even if it’s uncomfortable.

Even if I’m wrong.

If breathing is all I can do today,

then breathing is what I’ll do.