Dear Diary...

Sometimes getting outta bed is the hardest thing you have to do.

Not because you didn’t sleep enough.

You’re not tired

but sometimes… opening your eyes means facing another round of existing.

The weight isn’t physical.

It sits somewhere between your heart and your brain.

It’s quiet

And it’s loud.

Do you stay?
Do you move?

You don’t really know which voice to listen to.

And yet….
It happens.

You find the strength.

You don’t leap up with purpose.

Because you never feel ready.

You just…
move.

What is that strength?

Is it yours?
Or something you borrowed without realizing?

Is it survival?
Muscle memory?
Or the quiet refusal to give up on yourself?

Is it a higher purpose pulling at you from somewhere you can’t see?

A greater goal waiting patiently while you catch up?

Or maybe it’s none of that.

Maybe it’s just a small, stubborn spark

that knows staying down isn’t the answer

… even when getting up doesn’t feel like one either.

You don’t know what to call it yet.

You don’t need to know where it comes from.

It doesn’t matter.

For now,

You get up.

You fight another day.

To live another day.

You…