Towel throwing.
Slowly learning to stop fighting…that prolonging this insanely painful death of me will only make things harder and so much worse (and already has). No longer time for complaining about dying and time to just. let. go.
(So. much. pain.)
And yet:
“We go in hopes that people stay alive and fight to live that they might arrive at a day where those words feel possible and true.”
(Note: I’m speaking metaphorically here, in as much as I’m not dying dying. I’m just dying. If you don’t get it now, I’m guessing you will one day. Because I’m not the only one.)
Please keep whispering to me that this is worth it. Yell if possible.
