I never know if I’ll get through one day or the next. I mean, I believe I’ll stay alive. Yet I can only do it by putting one foot out of bed each day; then the next; and so on.
I try to imagine my future. Will I write? Will I finish my four-year degree? Will I ever be able to work again? What would allow me to earn my keep? Will I ever be able to decide where I want to live and sign a lease?
I know I’ll make it. I know I’ll stay alive. I know this morning that I’ll be alive in the evening. Yet I know any given morning I might not get out of bed, because of a migraine; I won’t be able to think of a good reason to risk a panic attack in order to go out and accomplish something. I know that even if I make fun plans and follow through with them, there’s a damn good chance that my mood will stay depressed.
So what’s the point? JUST KEEP GOING. That’s the point. One foot after the other. That’s the point.
Cuz I have a secret: I think my future’s gonna be awesome, really awesome. And I can’t wait.