I haven’t gotten better. I’m not even close to okay. The only thing I’ve done is to decide to get better. But I think that may just be enough.
I’m trying to see the magic in everyday miracles now: the fact that my heart still beats, that I can lift my feet off of the earth to walk and that there is something in me worthy of love. I know that bad things still happen. And sometimes I still ask myself why I am alive; but now, when I ask, I have an answer.
"You don’t have much muscle, which means you’re better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them.” Suddenly he presses a hand to my stomach. His fingers are so long that, though the heel of his hand touches one side of my rib cage, his fingertips still touch the other side. My heart po unds so hard my chest hurts, and I stare at him, wide-eyed. “Never forget to keep tension here."