When Survival Becomes a Habit


 I don't know how living feels like, up until now, I only know how to survive.

The stability in chaos is what I always pray for, then I thought to myself, how can I crave for something I didn't experience yet.

For the longest time I only know how to survive every suffering, I don't know how to fully enjoy without having any backup plans and side thoughts of when will this happiness end, what is the price of every giggle I let go, what will make me regret even enjoying moments — and to wish that it just didn't happen altogether.

I learned to breathe while drowning, and now that's all I know.
I don't know how to chill.
I was and will always be grateful for all of the blessings, but know that at the back of my mind, it will always be: "what's the consequence of this joy?"

For now, I'll let go of my worries and indulge in the sadness filling my mind.
It's okay to bond with my negative emotions — at the end of the day, everything needs to be regulated.
Accepting and knowing your enemy (trauma) is part of the process in healing.

And maybe, just maybe, survival was never meant to be permanent.
Maybe it's just the beginning — the rough draft before a softer chapter.
Maybe one day, I’ll let myself laugh without checking the room for exits.
Maybe I’ll learn to rest without guilt.
To feel joy without fear.
To breathe above water and trust that I won’t sink.

But until then, I honor the version of me that kept me alive —
even when living felt like too much to ask for.

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