Don't Feed It

It kind of feels like I’m falling backwards

Like the wind has been knocked out of me.

Like my insides have floated away.

Like I might be sick to my stomach

Or that someone mistook my guts for shoelaces. And tied them. In a bow. With bunny ears.

I guess I am not really “over”.

I often forget to think of him.

But he is also often on my mind.

People have all kinds of opinions about him.

But then there’s this pit inside.

This pit that I am still falling down.

Air rushing past

Struggling to catch my breath

So that’s what I’m focusing on.

Deep breath in. . . deep breath out.

Don’t feed the beast inside.

Lock it in a cage.

Kill it with kindness

But don’t feed it.

If I don’t look at it

It doesn’t die

It just lies in wait for a chance to lash out the moment my defenses are down.

So I’m determined.

Now, this time, the beast and I have a date.

We have to have it out.

I need to kill it now.

This bio is hard to write. I am grappling with publicly admitting my survivorship. While I must admit that there are many life-altering events that perforate my past, I choose not to let them define me. I am a Survivor because I do not subscribe to the line of thought that says I must be “damaged goods”. I am a Survivor because my focus is on being honestly, truly, and vividly alive. That means living in honesty with myself. It means dedicating each day to recovery. My tattoo has nothing to do with my survorship, technically. My sister and I got matching ones on a (thought out) sisterly impulse. I have always loved and looked up to my sister, who I am completely blessed to have in my life.

Bonnyjean's path to recovery has taken her to very unexpected places. She had lived with depression and chronic illness for years before taking the baby steps necessary to take a more loving approach to life. At the age of 19, repressed memories surfaced that changed the shape of her...