I carried Myself Out

Hitting rock bottom and being able to pick yourself up and carry yourself out of your hell

I sank into a silence no one else could hear, a shadowed room of memories and heaviness and fear.

No helping hands came reaching, no gentle voice or light- just me against the quiet, me against the night.

But even in the darkness my heartbeat still remained, a soft and stubborn rhythm that refused to be restrained.

So I lifted up my spirit, though the weight was hard to bear, and I stitched my broken pieces with my own remaining care.

I learned that healing isn't pretty, and rising hurts like hell, but I crawled through every echo where all my doubting fell.

And when the morning found me, I wasn't shining, wasn't new- but I was standing, breathing, trying- and that strength was born of you.

Not a single soul can claim it, not a hand that didn't lend- because I climbed out of my darkness on my own two feet, my friend.

And now I wear my scars like armor, proof of battles I survived- for I didn't wait to be rescued- I saved myself, and stayed alive.