Ten days of therapy.

So many faces and handouts and cups of hot-chocolate-coffee.

It’s my last day, and I couldn’t(wouldn’t) sleep last night.

I never wanted today to come.

I told my group how much they have changed me,

How my preconceived notions of “crazy” were shattered by them,

How every single one of them had been through something that resonated with me.

It’s funny, I think back to the night before my very first day

And I did not sleep then either, afraid of what the next day would bring.

I told the social worker I used to be caught up in the fantasy of depression;

Used to steep myself in my trauma and show everyone my battle scars from being broken like badges on a vest.

But now, this class, has taught me the romanticism of recovery, and I am steeped in becoming better.