Anniversary of the almost dead.

Specific dates used to never matter to me;
I didn’t have anything significant
that was worth commemorating.

And then the flashbacks reminded me
I’d have a hard time escaping.

I think back to where I was two months ago,
how serious it got:
a backpack, phone, and note left behind.
Alerting the state police,
my family in a state of uncertainty for
over six hours.

I’m finally accepting that was me.

Just like, one year ago,
when my apartment became "the scary place",
with flashing lights and raised voices and
pounding on the door.

I think about how you said it was a
“miracle”.
I never liked that word; I still don’t.
It holds too much hope,
too much recognition of the beauty of life.

I’m scared that all of this will repeat.
I’m scared I will give up the fight once more.

But for now, I am in control.
I am headed forward,
with weary eyes and tense shoulders.

I am here now, and that is all that matters.