I am sick. I write the words with a heavy heart full of exasperation as they echo through my head. I am unwell. As much as I wish it were not the case, it is and after trying to stand up to it and fight, I now--body pained and exhausted, mind weary and strained--fully surrender to it. There's a sort of relief that follows my admission. Letting the tide of post traumatic stress, and anxiety toss me this way and that. I have not come here to die, I quickly remind both the ocean and myself. Quite the opposite, I surrendered not out of force but of my own volition. It was time for me to make peace with my right now instead of trying to turn it into something else.
So I lean back, close my eyes and rest up against my illness. There is no mistake that as I become one with it, it also must become one with me. So I will stop combatting its existence. I will acknowledge its presence and its power. But I also demand it acknowledge mine.
I have come here to live. To survive you, I have to learn you. To learn you I cannot pretend you do not exist and I cannot underestimate your influence. Similarly, you must know I have no interest in you becoming my whole story. It is just that I've tried to fight you in every way that I could and lost. So now I surrender the battle and let the chips fall where they may.
The war, however, that victory is mine.