Six months have passed and I haven�t spent one day curled up in bed, save a few days in November when I had the flu. A legitimate illness, unlike the ones I feigned for ten years in order to close myself off from the outside world and retreat into nothingness.
Six months have passed and fear no longer controls me. I had a panic attack in LaGuardia airport three years ago. I vowed I would never step foot on a plane again. In the last nine weeks, I have flown thirteen times.
Six months ago, I couldn�t go to the bathroom by myself. Yesterday I spent the entire day exploring Washington DC. Alone.
Six months ago, I pretended to be happy. Today, I am content.