Read the poem here.

Before they were digitalised, an entire trolley in the hospital would be dedicated to just my folders of notes. 

My wonderful mum would request them from the hospital yearly so we could keep up with what was going on.

The hospital repeatedly “lost” notes, even after being digitalised, and withhold what they gave us for an extended period of time. Therefore, every piece we got was precious – even if it wasn’t exactly needed.

It was cathartic to shred everything we didn’t need and I felt as if I was saying goodbye to some of the hold that the hospital’s still had over me. 

Recovery isn’t easy, especially when you know you’ll never get the answers to important questions like the how and why of things happening.

One day I feel mentally stronger and the next I’m a crumbling mess. But I’m making good steps forward and I’m not going to let the hard days win, as easy as it may seem sometimes. 

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