The deepest part of my anguish seems like a memory borne from historical fiction. Someone else’s tragedy. Not entirely real. Maybe even a bit exaggerated in the retelling.
I know, however, that it’s all part of creating Carly. It doesn’t define me today, but the agonies are my history with all the shattered edges and deep regrets that far too long dominated my every rumination.
In an almost nonsensical way, I’m grateful I went through each struggle. Today, I wouldn’t want to be anyone else in the world.
Pain still appears in little pieces; manageable shards I can suction out and toss aside before they torment my brain and pierce my soul. At times, I feel myself sinking when I slip back into bad habits. The worst of these habits are when I forget to learn from mistakes and quickly move on, and particularly when I fail to forgive myself for being less than perfect.
Read more about my friend Carly and her fight for mental health each week at The CARL Project on Facebook.