244 Days

On February 1st, right before I changed my calender, I stared at the number 244 written on January 31st. 244 Days. It seems almost unbelievable to me. Just a little over eight months ago, I was a sobbing mess with bleeding hips and a blank areas in my brain. When I wasn't crying, I was scratching until I broke the skin or wishing I was dead.

244 Days. The number is so unreal. I remember reaching 100 days and being happy I managed to do it. I had the strength and willpower to keep myself from doing anything dangerous to myself. There were moments I started to miss her and wished I could relieve the stress by opening my skin. But I held back and wrote my feelings out on paper instead. I drew on my skin with pens instead of knives and drove my car straight instead of sharply turning.

I wrote the numbers on my calender for every day I made it. I was asked often what they meant and I told lies. It's seeing how long I've been a vegetarian, or how many days there are in a year. So many lies, it's almost cruel of me.

244 Days. It took me over 244 days to stop missing her. I haven't marked the day off my calender since February started. I enjoy driving my car around the curves on the cliff. My X-Acto is used for only crafts. I'm smiling more. I'm planning. I'm working hard. I'm trying and I'm succeeding.

It took me over 244 Days to get to where I am. I'm still going to be confused as fuck and probably hate myself many times in the future. The horrible feelings will come back but I'll have experience and people around me to help me through it. I'll live. I'll make it through.

244 Days. That is the number I stop counting.

I turned my calender to February and marked out the first box. I didn't write a number. I turned my back and crawled into bed for a comfortable and relaxed night of sleep.

February is a new month. And I'm ready for whatever it throws at me.

-- Amber