My heart is bruised, broken, and so very sore. Over the past week, I have lost things that defined who I am: my character, my very essence and the core of my being, and my most basic purpose. All of those things have been ripped away, leaving this empty shell that I don’t even know what do with. Friendships have been called into question; ties that I thought were unbreakable are showing rust and evidence of cracking. I feel as though I have been caught, unaware, in a vicious rip tide of changes, a cycle that keeps knocking me down every time I think I can stand up for air.

I want to throw my hands up and just give in, let that tide carry me out and just give up. But I can’t. No, I won’t. With every fiber in my being I want to break down, but somehow I’m still walking. Still smiling, even though it burns.

People say it’ll get easier, the smile will begin to feel real. But the losses that I’ve accrued this past week will haunt me forever. I feel as though my smile might never be the same. I feel as though I might never be the same.

And is that a good thing? Honestly, I don’t know. I had a home, a place and purpose there that defined who I was striving to become. It was a purpose that had pulled me out of the darkness so many times. There, I was surrounded by people who saw in me all the good, the spark of potential that I needed to come out of the other side slaying the demons in my own head. And for all of that, I was better.

It’s gone now, that shelter. It was ripped away in that current of change and I am left standing here amid the ruins. I keep looking around, waiting to wake up from the stupid nightmare. Waiting to know that the shelter and home I’d relied on hasn’t really been taken away.

I’m not going to wake up. The nightmare of it all is so real and I have to begin again. Suddenly and without so many of the tools I’d used to get where I was.

Rock bottom. I thought I’d found it before, but I realize now its transient. With every wave that hits me I realize that I can always go lower. Those angry waves seem hell-bent on proving that point.

My heart is broken, shattered into a million pieces and I don’t know that it’ll ever be whole again. But I’m choosing to move on. I’m choosing not to make myself available to further insults. As hard as it will be to let go of the ties that I thought I had, I need to remember that if they were real, they never would have been so easily severed. I need to define my self-worth outside of that former home and remember that the people who love me, love me for the person I am and there are no strings attached to that love. And I need to know that I will begin again.

The truth is, I’m not okay. No matter how many times people I love ask me that question, and no matter how many times I give a false smile and say I’m fine, the fact that I am not okay hasn’t changed. And the people who really love me, know the truth. They call me a liar to my face and hug me tighter because they know. Truthfully, I don’t even know what okay looks like anymore. The face of it has changed so drastically, I might not even recognize it when I see it again.

But that? That is okay. It is fucking hard to admit, but it is going to be okay that “okay” has changed. I can redefine okay. I can take in the changes, breathe, and come out the other side a stronger, better person. Some of the things I thought were permanent may be gone, but I am still intact. I may be shattered inside, but the shell is still there waiting for me to put the pieces back together in a new and wonderful order.

I will rise, just like that phoenix tattooed on my side, and nothing is going to stop me or hold me down. People will catch me, hold me while I need it, and then they’ll be there on the other side waiting to say, “See, we told you you could do it.”

I’ll make it through. And those have to be my last words on the subject.