a little reminder

I'm writing this letter in only hope I can and could ever possibly have - to remind you. Some things, some moments will never be remembered, as human mind is incapable of some things despite it's greatness. And some things are impossible to forget. And maybe it's unusual, but I'm writing this in order to make you think about something I know you haven't forgotten. We remember, we do, but do we think about it? So that's my reason. This will be one short page. I don't know at what point you are in your life while reading this letter. I don't know if you're at your highest, or at your lowest. And if you're somewhere inbetween, I cannot be sure in what direction you're moving. But I do hope to remind you of your strenght. I want to reshape the edges of memories that time has blurred, because you have been living with this Thing for 3 years, it'll be 3 years after a month, and when you'll get this letter you'll be marking 5 years point. And maybe it will be too early to get this letter, maybe. But I've been watching myself, this past half year was so so good. And the Thing, it's not even a shadow of what it has been that first year. So, I noticed this, and I understood that I'm forgetting, that I'm being lulled into this life that reminds me so much of what it used to be. And I'll repeat myself – I don't know how you're doing at the moment you're reading this. In case things are bad – this is a reminder that you are capable of fighting back. Especially if It is back, I want to remind you how to fight it. Even if the second fight is never the same as the first. But as I said, this will only be a short page. First you fight it passively. You take the meds, every day, you eat. You sleep, a lot. You're trying not to lose your mind, you cry. And all the time, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, every single fucking second of it, you wait. You understand the word 'relative' better than in your whole life, no books can teach you better than this, because you look at the clock and you can't understand, is the battery dead? Has it only been 10 minutes? At the end you stop looking at the clock, just like you stopped looking at the mirrors. They change your meds, it gets better. You say hello to side effects, you change meds again, you gain weight. There's nothing I can remind you about fighting passively. It's not you doing the fighting, it's the pills. But then, then it gets better. Bit by bit. The voices in your head get quieter. Side effects, well, you gain weight, but at least you are capable of moving freely without being constrained, and things seem clearer, you are capable of laughing, of crying, and people don't stop to ask you if you're okay every time they see you. The Thing doesn't disappear, but it's not noticeable, not so much. So you keep getting better for the next month, moths, a year. And then, you join the fight. You begin to fight agressively. Because it's not enough that you stopped giving things to the disease, you want to take things back. I sometimes think to myself, what kind of person I would be today, if nothing happened. But I had to work with what I had. And it wasn't much. And so I started fighting back. When the voices started whispering, I told them that I'm not afraid. The next time, I added 'Shut up'. After some time, it became 'Shut up, bitch'. Maybe it's not the healthiest way, how I fought and how I still fight on the unusually bad days. I call them names. I tell them things I wouldn't tell to the most hated person. I really do hope It doesn't come back. But if it does, I want to remind you. You owned that bitch one time, sweetheart, you can own it again.