Two years ago today I composed a suicide note.
Two years ago today I prepared to tie a noose.
And yet, I'm still alive.
Sometimes when I begin to loose faith in humankind and the world in general, which is more frequently than I would like, I look back and realize that I should consider the fact that I can feel my heart beating to be a miracle. I see life differently- I don't take it for granted, but that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to slog through it anyway.
I wish there was some way to find out if I would've carried out my plan if Martin wasn't there to intervene. Of course, that's about the most impossible thing on the planet, but it has been weighing heavily on my mind lately.
Martin. I don't know what I could ever do to repay him. I don't know if he knows how truly grateful I am (at the moment).
730 days I've lived into this new life, and I don't remember two thirds of them. Or I probably do, but I've shut them out.
And today is just another one. For all the spiralling emotions I felt on August 16, today is nothing. Another day to live.
I AM ALIVE, GODDAMMIT!
But Eva... she isn't. And that's what affects me every single day.