The Fact That I’m Alive Is A Blessing In Disguise

I plummeted into this world three weeks late and filled with bones formed too short. I’ve always felt that branding of a misfit, a cursed child if you will. I’ve always felt the sunshine caress my face then run away, leaving room for the storm that’s always lived inside. I don’t know how I got here, or why I’m allowed to breathe.

The fact that I’m alive is a blessing in disguise.

Words have always flown naturally through my brain and out of me. Whether it was to comfort someone or courageously stand up to the most intimidating of bullies, I was never afraid to speak to save the soul of another. My body is the toughest of shields, and my voice an elegant, valiant sword. I do not consider myself a super hero, but I do live to save us all.

The fact that I’m alive is a blessing in disguise.

I donned the robes, carried the candle like a torch; yet I spent nights cursing His name, rejecting the concept of eternal anything. Sometimes I could feel my skin burning as I stroked the beads of my rosary, as if Mother Mary knew the reality. I confessed once to my priest that I didn’t think I deserved to believe, but my words were met with a crushing silence across the thin wall.

The fact that I’m alive is a blessing in disguise.

I don’t believe in many things, but I do believe that actions speak louder than words. It’s not enough to say you care, but rather you should show it in your kind and giving gestures. Whether it’s a dollar at the checkout lane to help the homeless pets or a monthly contribution to provide equal education, I never hesitate. It’s not just money, it’s also in the cards I send or the simple moment of holding a door for a simple stranger. I’ll do it all with a warm smile, loving heart, and genuine compassion.

The fact that I’m alive is a blessing in disguise.

I’ve swallowed pills by the handful; I’ve kept knives under my bed. My arms and legs tell countless stories of days when I hoped something physical would take away the constant emotional pain. I’ve drank until my face was numb, driven cars while too intoxicated to even see. Yet, I wake each morning to find myself still standing, my lungs taking in another day.

The fact that I’m alive is a blessing in disguise.

The moment that I held you in my arms, I knew that you were special. I wanted nothing more than to protect you for forever, from the darkness and the storms. I spend most evenings in disbelief that I’ve been twice blessed to be a mother. I brave the weather inside myself, because loving you will forever be worth the fight.

The fact that I’m alive is a blessing in disguise.

The day that she left made me feel like life was over, that I’d lost myself again. I’d spend nights standing on that desolate bridge just imagining what the jump would make me feel. Yet, eventually, in entered my salvation: someone completely different, the truest kind of friend, the cathartic clicking of the keys, the release of sharing my story. Though I still walk the line between life and death, there’s something just so different, something that beckons me to stay.

Maybe the fact that I’m alive will always be a blessing in disguise. Or, could it possibly be that the blessing has always simply been buried deep inside of me? Perhaps those feelings of antipathy were nothing more than just a dream; I think that, maybe, I’ve been the disguised blessing just by being me. I may not always love myself, but I care about every single particle in the world around me. I’ve always felt that I’m a curse, yet that everyone else has beautiful blessings inside of themselves. I think that, in our own way, we are all just tiny blessings, spreading goodness with the simply, sometimes invisible gifts that we were given.