it's here.

Mind over matter. I'm not one to give up hope, and I haven't given up on me.

While my body says, "Screw this shit, I'm going all messed up on your ass," my mind says, "I can take it as long as you can dish it out. Bring it, body." Because regardless of my faults, I don't deserve to be sick. I don't deserve to have Generalized Anxiety Disorder, nor do I deserve the nodule on my thyroid--any more than I deserve to have a cyst near my first vocal chord that's keeping me from singing, and sometimes talking.

I'm not dead. My fire's not out (in case my lack of activity here had you going). All of these problems will pass. I know this is true, as I take a long hard look at everything that's ever happened in my life. I've been bullied, cheated, and abused. I've been the victim of someone else's jealousy, and the victim of my own. I've been lied to, slapped, kicked, and broken. I've also been more than one thing in my life, and no one thing I've done defines me, who I am, or who I'm going to be. No one person can make that untrue.

So who am I? A force to be reckoned with. I can say that with confidence, regardless and because of everything I've ever done. Some days you have the world at your feet, and then, out of the blue, the rug gets pulled out. You come crashing down, and the only thing your feet get to see is the sky. Does this fill me with fear and loathing? Not a chance. Nothing good can come from a heart full of hate and bitterness. Not one action, not one single let down, beat down, or break up can take away a person's ability to overcome. It's a choice.

Today, I'm feeling good. Optimistic, even. That doesn't mean my fight is over. It does mean I've decided to use all of the will I can muster to heal my mind and body. Anything left over, I'm going to share with the people around me if they need it.

Somewhere, deep in the pit of my gut, I know I have the strength. Yesterday, I cut an entire 10 cigarettes out of my daily routine. Before yesterday, it was almost 20. When you're as emotionally attached to smoking as I've become, that's a feat. One I plan to repeat today. Some people say cold turkey is the only way to go. Good for them. Some people say a lot of things, but that doesn't mean I'm caught up in their confines. In their invisible lines that they suppose would limit me.

I'm tired of poisoning myself. With the food I eat, with the cigarettes, with the medicine that's supposed to help, but does more harm than good. With the idea, mine or anyone else's that I can't get better. Inside or out.

I don't know right now if I'll ever get back to writing every day. I don't know if the book I thought I had in me is still there, or if there's another one coming down the pike. I don't know if my ears, nose, and throat will ever let me like my guitar as much as I used to. I do know that sometimes a door closes, and you have to peer into a lot of windows before anyone will have the heart to let you in and out of the rain. Other times, you'll have to weather all of it while you build a new house, with a new door for which only you hold the key.