I tried. I'm still trying. I'll still try, I hope.

I used to live in the darkness - that's a lie.

I think I'm still struggling to live in my darkness.

I'm in a suspended state. Like an astronaut stuck in space - floating, floating, floating. I don't know when I'll run out of oxygen or if I'll be rescued. I don't know which will come first. Life has taught me that only I can rescue myself because healing starts with me, not from someone else. I wonder when if I can rescue myself before my flames die out. I hope I can.

I'd like to think that I'm trying because if I don't then why am I still here?

In this space where my consciousness floats, I'm trying to find not just myself but the meaning of my existence. If I found it maybe I can proudly say to myself, 'This is why I'm here'. Maybe I won't feel as worthless, incompetent and pathetic.

But I think I'm healing... even if it's a miniscule progress, it's still a progress.

I'm trying not to be too hard on myself and to assure myself that's it's okay to take it slow.

'It's okay not to be okay', this is my mantra nowadays.

Pressure and everything ; my harsh judgment on myself, what I think people think of me, my incompetence and everything - still suffocates me, but I'm trying my best to calm my mind and breath. I'm trying my best to live.

I'm still trying to accept the fact that it's easy for others to wake up and face their day while it's the hardest for me to do. I'm still trying to accept that I might be different but it's okay. It's okay to be struggling on matters others aren't. It's okay not to have any will to live for a day.

I'm still trying and I'd like to think that this is my progress.

I'm still trying and I'd like to think that even if I failed, many times, I'd still try again.

Because if I'm alive, I can still try.