Trust.

I think I can.
I think I can.
I think I can.
I know I can.

-- The Little Engine That Could


Yesterday I blipped about a fire I survived nine years ago. I wrote about the experience, the loss; the grief. But I didn't write about how it changed me, and it did, no question. It changed me beyond recognition. For a while, I really wasn't myself at all. I was there, but I wasn't present. My mind, my heart, and my spirit were crushed, as I tried to process and come to terms with what had happened.

It took months, years actually, to feel safe again, to trust that I could go to sleep at night and wake up again in the morning and everything would still be there. I became paranoid about cookers and plug sockets and mobile phone cables. Had I unplugged the iron? Had I turned the gas off? The fire had started in the pub at the bottom, it was nothing that I had any control over, but I was scared it could happen again. Living in a tenement block, you put your trust in strangers everyday. You trust that they will be responsible, they won't leave their cigarette burning, they won't leave the chip pan on ... I struggled to get ideas like this out of my head.

As each day passed, I recovered, and now I look back and see that it has completely shaped me as the person I am today. I'll never get past it, I'll never forget it, but I carry it with me, and I learn from it.

I try to lead a good life.
I try to see the positives.
I don't always succeed.
I get stressed, I overthink things, I play things over and over in my mind, I'm too sensitive, I take life far too seriously and I haven't slept well in months.

But, I try.

That's all anyone can do.

The drawing in the blip is by an artist friend. She made it for me after the fire. It reads:

some mountains are smaller than others

It gives me strength and helps me see that I can do anything. Not everything will be such a struggle.

You just have to take each day as it comes.