Unbreakable Spirit

You can decide to be okay.

Because I got sick and tired
of feeling like shit.

And one day I woke up
no longer feeling like a broken patient.

I woke up DECIDING
that I am Kaj.

And Kaj dances no matter what.

I AM KAJ
and therefore I dance
even after half-losing an organ to the left
while my spine now lopsides to the right.

I DECIDE
the reality my body is to adapt to.

Because hell no
am I living some oblique tragedy
without my left obliques
being sentenced to 2 years of:

“No dancing.”

…sorry what?

NO.

I don’t care who the fuck you are, Doc.

Fuck being your patient.
Fuck slaving to your words
like a death sentence
I already leapt right out of -

ALONE.

(18th May GP says:
“Whatever prayers your mum and dad have been doing for you worked.”)

I may look like shit for some time,
but did I ever care about your opinions
to begin with?

Nope.

Because when I’m okay in my mind,
I don’t feel the pain
from an impact force so rough
it nearly sliced me in half
and trapped me inside
a foreign abyss.

But if I let myself fully feel
the TRUE tragedy behind that incident -

then I’m back in that hole again.

Losing my mind.
Feeling all the pain from within.

YEH.

Fuck that.

Because yes - 
I could cry till 6AM,
then impulsively spend 300 quid
dyeing my hair red,
just to finally face the woman in the mirror
and RECOGNISE
that the warrior staring back at me
is not some broken piece of shit
my intrusive PTSD flashbacks
or the system
keep telling me I am.

It is KAJ.

I AM KAJ.

And Kaj will fly to fucking Spain
the same day.

And on that day?

I danced.

I had a damn good time
at my bestie’s hen.

And for the first time after my accident,
I did NOT wake up
in agony the next morning.

Because if the mountains taught me anything -

it is the power
of my goddamn mind.

Because on Kilimanjaro?

For the first 3 days
I literally felt like a fucking masochist
paying for my own pain and agony
trapped in the fucking sky
where every man’s for himself.

I was losing the will to live
on that third day.

Nearly 5000 metres above sea level.
Struggling to acclimatise.
Asthma on top.
Icy conditions.
No proper sleep.

Mentally.
Physically.
Spiritually.

I had maxed out
feeling all the SHIT.

Until 

when I opened my eyes on day 4

I was ready for war.

I had DECIDED
that I only have ONE focus from here on:

reach that summit.

No emotional fluff in the way.

The goal is set.

The body better fucking figure it out
because I’m taking us there
and you ain’t stopping me.

And weirdly?

Body listened.

Acclimatised freakishly fast
and carried my tiny feet
up to the roof of Africa
and back.

But first

I needed to accept
that I was not okay.

Because before you decide to be okay,
you have to admit
you are not okay first.

And I got very good
at overriding my own signals.

Keep moving forward.
Keep functioning.
Keep surviving.

Never actually sitting still long enough
to FEEL anything.

Because sometimes your shit
is just too fucking deep to feel.

Beyond your capacity.

…or so you think.

Even if it feels like
an organ is rupturing inside of you

(which I have FELT
and still came out alive from)

you CAN face
all the darkness
you keep pretending you’ve outrun.

Because your shadows never leave you.

They wait.

Waiting for you
to see them.
Accept them.
Integrate them.

My shadows?

That I’m not always bubbly.

Half the time
I’m the complete opposite.

A battery-dead piece of shit.

And my family know this.

They’re probably sat there half the time thinking:

“Oh BOY…
you lot have NO idea who she really is.”

Because everyone loves:
happy bunny,
cute,
adorable,
loveable Kaj.

And don’t get it twisted

that IS me.

But lurking underneath
was the version of me
I thought was:
too intense,
too savage,
too blunt,
too unlikeable
for people to handle.

Then I nearly died.

And suddenly
all those fragmented pieces of me
had no choice
but to merge together
to save my life.

So now?

My shadows aren’t shadows anymore.

They are me.

Savage blunt
resting bitch face Kaj?

Also me.

Existential-rage Kaj?

Also me.

Cute bubbly Kaj?

Still me too.

ALL of it is me.

And weirdly?

I feel more WHOLE
after falling into the hole
that broke my physical body.

And somewhere through all this
I realised something terrifying:

No one’s coming.

You save yourself.

You survive yourself.

I nearly gave up in that hole.

I genuinely thought I was dying.

And weirdly?

There was peace in it.

Like this near-death bliss
that felt more euphoric
than a shit ton of morphine.

Until I pictured my mum waiting for me at home.

And something inside me activated.

One precise decision.

SURVIVE.

One life-or-death leap
out of my own fucking black hole.

Yeh I’m broken as shit.

But I’m still here.

Because I DECIDED to be.

NO gods.
NO angels.
NO miracle.

I SAVED ME.

And honestly?

That changes a person forever.

Because after surviving something like that,
you stop outsourcing authority
over your own spirit.

I used to put so much significance
into spirituality,
signs,
all this external stuff

now?

I’ve chucked all that significance
onto my own damn spirit.

Because your spirit
is fucking unbreakable.

But first

you have to DECIDE that.

And maybe that’s the whole point.

Maybe healing
isn’t becoming positive.

Maybe healing
is finally integrating
all the parts of yourself
you spent years trying to hide.