She Dug Up My Grave

She made sure my cuts and burns were clean and bandaged. She took care of me when I was drunk or high or hung over or going through withdrawal. She held me as I cried and held me down as I tried to rip hair from my head. She gave me ice for the bruises left by abuse and she gave me laughter that reminded me I was still alive. She was my journal, listening to each word I said and my therapist, validating and helping me explore my wild emotions. She would skip class with me, just to make sure I didn't accidentally or intentionally injure myself during a panic attack. The depression and anxiety were so deep and so dark and so suffocating, I swore I had been buried alive. I kicked and flailed right into coffin walls. I screamed but the sound was trapped inside my burial box and suppressed by the Earth. She dug up my grave because she knew it wasn't yet my time. She was my guardian angel, sent to wrap me in her wings. Now though, the angelic feathers are decorating some rich lady's hat and she is one of the skeletons in her closest.


For T.J.S. -- No matter the space between our conversations or time between our memories, you will always be my greatest friend. No matter how far apart we grow in personality or how far we are in distance, we can always pick up right were we left off. We may not be like the best friends shown on tv, together 24/7 while knowing 100% of the other's life but, we are best friends because this is real life and we know what counts. Keep holding on T, you can make it. We will make it together. I love you, T, my pinky patch pal <3