Soldier

I've been through a hell of a lot worse and come out alive. I always tell myself that when I get hurt and it sort of helps. It reminds me of what a soldier I was the day Jessie died, how I took charge while my parents and the world around me crumbled, how I got through telling everyone that they're 14 year old friend had hung herself in her closet, how I held them and was there for them and told them that everything would be okay even though I didn't believe a word I said and just wanted to curl up in a ball and never stop crying. I did that. I was a soldier. Which is why I get so pissed when I break down, when I get hurt. Nothing should be able to touch me after what I have been through, I have been trained in the art of hurting. But I still cry, I'm still human, I'm not the soldier that I want to be and I hate it. Jessie fucking broke me. I don't know where I got the strength to handle that day, that week, that month, adrenaline maybe? Because I have wanted to die from the sheer anguish nearly every day for the past 6 years. I've wanted the world to stop, I've wanted to go to sleep and never wake up, I've just wanted it all to go away and stay away. Hell maybe I am a soldier for staying alive through all of that, lord knows there have been times where I took too many pills on purpose, times that I drove too fast hoping I'd lose traction and slam into a tree or off a bridge, but I'm still here and staying here, whether I like it or not. And the answer is generally 'not.' So there we go, I talk myself into soldier mode again because doing so is quite possibly the only thing that keeps me alive.